


Other Lives

by marywhale



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Reaper!Taako, Reclaimer!Kravitz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 15:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 53,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13550358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marywhale/pseuds/marywhale
Summary: When Kravitz signed up for the job in Phandalin, he didn’t expect adventuring to become his life. He was bored playing for the well-to-do of Neverwinter, sure, but not this bored. He was supposed to make some quick cash, pay off his gambling debts, and go back to his comfortable existence as a bard. He wasn't supposed to join a secret organization trying to save the world.But here he is, paralyzed on the floor of a crystallized laboratory, and he has yet to keep a suit intact through a single adventure.





	1. The Crystal Kingdom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hannahlady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannahlady/gifts).



> Written for [@hannahlady](http://hannahlady.tumblr.com) over on tumblr, who came up with this concept and was happy to let me run with it. Thank you to weatheredlaw for betaing this for me.

Kravitz’s evening is rapidly going from bad to worse. He’s not big on Candlenights to begin with, but tonight is shaping up to be especially rough. The combination of aggressively pink golems, creepy singing, oversized cockroaches, and puzzle robots has been—a lot. Merle is down an arm and Kravitz is paralyzed on the floor and absolutely going to _murder_ Lucas Miller when they catch up to him. He’s normally more for trying to negotiate and cut a deal to get people to come in peacefully, but if anyone deserves a ticket straight to the astral plane, it’s Lucas.

“I’m going to absolutely murder that man,” Killian says, from where she’s lying, prone, on the floor. 

“Please do,” Kravitz tries to say, except he’s so paralyzed from the shock that it comes out jumbled and sounds more like “ease-oo” than actual words. His lyre is beside him and doesn’t _seem_ any worse for the wear, but honestly who knows? This whole situation is a mess and _really_ , when he signed up for the job in Phandalin he didn’t expect this to become his life. He was bored playing for the well-to-do of Neverwinter, sure, but not _this_ bored. He was supposed to make some quick cash, pay off his gambling debts, and go back to his comfortable existence as a bard. He wasn't supposed to join a secret organization trying to save the world.  
  
But here he is, paralyzed on the floor of a crystallized laboratory, and he has yet to keep a suit intact through a single adventure.  


“I am _absolutely_ going to kill him,” says Killian. “ _Oh_ my god, I’m going to kill him so good.”

“Yeah, you and me both, Killian,” Magnus says, from somewhere to Kravitz’s left.

“Great,” says Merle. “Now I can’t feel my legs and I’m down one arm. One freaking arm!”

Kravitz doesn’t have to see Magnus to know he’s rolling his eyes.

“Hey, uh, Krav, buddy—got any bardic magic that could get us out of this one?” Magnus asks, after a beat. “Could really use a boost right now and we know we’re not getting it from our Cleric.”

“One arm!” Merle shouts.

“C’n move,” Kravitz says, lying where he is, resigned to wait out the rest of the shock. 

“Shit,” says Magnus, and then the walls start singing at them again.

Normally, Kravitz appreciates music. Normally, it doesn’t seem so fucking _ominous_.

The crystals end their song and then things go from bad to worse because a voice echoes out of their stones of farspeech—cadence foreign and strange. “Aw, someone left me a present,” it says.

Then there is a sound like fabric tearing and Kravitz can’t move his head to see what’s happening, but judging by the groans from Magnus and Merle he doesn’t have to. It’s the golem again.

“Huh,” says the golem. “You really shouldn’t have, homies.” It walks around the room and looks them each over in turn, waving a long, pink, spear-like arm over their immobilized forms. A book appears beside it and the golem takes a quick peek inside it, pauses to eye Noelle, and then slams it closed and banishes it entirely. “Y’know, you four _really_ shouldn’t hang out together. It’s like you’re just begging me to take you to the astral plane.” The golem points a spear at Killian and Carey. “Don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’re good. No debts owed or what have you.”

“Uh,” says Magnus. “Maybe you have us mistaken for somebody else. We’re from _this_ plane and this is, uh, where we belong.”

The golem seems to rock back on its heels for a moment as it looks down at Magnus. “Oh really?” he asks. “ _Really?_ Cha’boy has collected, uh, a _lot_ of bounties and _none_ of them have ever tried _lying_ before.”

“I feel like you’re being insincere.”

“Oh, _no_ ,” says the golem, pressing crystal spears to its chest in mock shock. “ _Me_?”

“All right, okay. There’s no need—” Magnus cuts himself off. “Wait. You said bounties? Like, for what? Who are you looking for?”

The golem lets out a high pitched laugh. “Fuck, my dude. In this lab? A _lot_ of people. Did you decide to have a convention or something? It’s a smorgasbord up in here.” He stretches out his arms, then breaks off a piece of one like he’s creating a makeshift wand. “Mm, short stuff. Let’s start with you, huh?” he says, and then he casts Magic Missile at Merle.

Kravitz can’t move. Can’t get them all moving until he _can_ move, but his hand’s touching the floor and he can do his _best_. He can’t whistle with his lips paralyzed, but they’re pressed together and he can _hum_ , so he does, closing his eyes and casting Light on the floor in a sudden, distracting burst.

The golem’s spell goes wide and Merle, in a stroke of rare genius, uses the golem’s distraction to cast Dispell Magic on Kravitz in turn.

Kravitz reaches for his lyre immediately, pulling it protectively close to his chest and checking it over for damage.

It draws the golem’s attention immediately. “Hey, handsome? Not cool. Which one are you again? Kravitz?”

Kravitz looks up at the golem and stretches out his fingers. The null suit makes the strings a bitch to play, but he’s been coping. “Kravitz,” he agrees. “What’s your name?”

“I’m _Taako_ ,” says the golem, sounding deeply offended. “Y’know, from TV?”

Kravitz doesn’t know anything except that he just bought himself enough time to stroke his fingers over his lyre and cast Dispell Magic on Magnus.

The golem doesn’t exactly have facial features, but Kravitz can tell he’s annoyed that Kravitz distracted him long enough to sneak a spell in.

“That’s just rude,” the golem—Taako—says. “Hey Kravitz? I’m about to tentacle your dick.” And then he raises his arm and suddenly Kravitz’s world is all squirming black tentacles and not much else because he can’t _move_ and they’re all over his face too, blocking his vision, and Kravitz is squirming to try and get himself free and hoping like _hell_ that he doesn’t lose his lyre to tentacles conjured by a crystal golem, wrapping around him and holding him immobile and also kind of getting _fresh_ with him in embarrassing ways.

He hears, but doesn’t see, Magnus and Merle trying to attack the golem, and when he finally squirms free and to his feet, bruised and battered and worse for the wear, glaring at the golem in front of them and the crystals floating at his side. He reaches for his lyre again, but Magnus is tossing something in his direction—a fork.

“Kravitz, the bomb!”

Kravitz looks at the fork in his hand, looks at the bomb floating in front of him, and regrets every life choice that brought him to this moment. Merle’s crystallized arm is part of the bomb and Kravitz _cannot_ believe—well, he can. He’s spent months with Magnus and Merle now. He _absolutely_ can believe this shit.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with the three of us?” he asks, and then stabs the Glutton’s Fork into the bomb and lifts the visor on his null suit so he can eat it.

Taako the golem stares at the three of them for a long, long moment, after Kravitz swallows, then bursts out laughing. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, fuck, did you just eat your friend’s _arm_? And I thought I was into some kinky shit there, Krav.” 

Taako rolls his shoulders. “I’m gonna take a quick spa break and then I’ll be back to take you in.” He’s looking a little worse for the wear, a little like he’s been chipped away at—Kravitz is impressed Merle and Magnus managed it, if he’s honest.

“Why?” Magnus asks.

Taako the golem gives Magnus the most unimpressed look a creature made entirely of pink tourmaline could possibly give anyone. “You know _exactly_ why, my dude,” he says, and then collapses in on himself, leaving behind a floating ball of white light. A rift opens behind him and the light darts through it before sealing back up.

Kravitz is glad he ate the crystal, because even with the boost it gave him, he’s still feeling worse for the wear. “I don’t suppose we have time to take a short rest before we kill Lucas? I need to replace a string.”

Merle flexes his wooden fingers and glances at Magnus. “Pocket workshop?”

“I _told you_ it would come in handy,” he says, pulling it out. “And Kravitz said we should get the spa.”

“I also said we shouldn’t get in the Elevator of Tomorrow earlier and you didn’t listen to me then, but who was right?”

Magnus squints at him for a moment, as Carey helps Killian up off the floor. “Is this about the green slime?”

“This is absolutely about the green slime, Magnus. Thank you,” Kravitz says.

Magnus throws his arms up in the air. “They’re not even _your_ clothes this time! You’re wearing a null suit! Merle!”

Merle cocks his head and the raises his wooden arm. “You chopped my arm off,” he says. “I’m siding with the music man on this one.”

“I _saved_ your damn _life_!”

Carey clears her throat, from the other side of the room and the three of them turn, as one, to look at her and Killian. “How are you three still _alive_?”

Kravitz can’t help it, he snorts. Under his null suit, and beneath his shirt, is a charm that denotes him as a devotee of the Raven Queen. He has some strong feelings about everything going on in the lab tonight and suspicions about the golem—Taako—chasing them, although for the life of him he can’t figure out _why_ he would be, if he is what Kravitz thinks he is. “Blind luck,” he says. “And I have a feeling that’s just changed.”

*

Necromancy. Of _course_ it’s necromancy. Kravitz watches Magnus shake babbled apologizes and explanations out of Lucas and wishes very hard that he could pinch the bridge of his nose because it’s been a long night and he can feel a headache coming on. He’d had his suspicions before, but this confirms, well, everything.

Kravitz, who follows the Raven Queen, who _knows_ more about the astral plane than either Merle or Magnus, knows exactly what they’re seeing through the platinum-framed, sapphire mirror. This is bad. This is _very_ bad.

Across the room, Magnus drops Lucas.

“I'm sorry I just, I thought I could still save her, I thought I could still defuse the situation myself, I thought—I’m worried that you guys would do some—would hurt her, you'd make me—you'd put her back in the astral plane and that I'd lose her again!” Lucas sobs, looking up at Magnus on his knees.

“She’s gone, Lucas. Would your mother have struck you?” Magnus asks, looking down at Lucas with far too much sympathy. That’s Magnus, though.

Lucas hesitates, darting a glance at the robot in the crystalized stalactite. “No…”

“Your mother is gone, Lucas,” Magnus says. “Help us fix this.”

“I have a feeling it’s a little late for that, Magnus,” Kravitz says.

“Handsome and sharp,” says a voice from the mirror. “You’re just the whole package, huh bubelah? It’s really too bad about the bounty thing. So you finally figured it out?”

Standing there, one hand wrapped around the handle of an extremely sharp looking scythe, is an elf. He’s got tanned, freckled skin and long blonde hair, pulled back in a braid. His eyes are red. He’s wearing a dark robe, covered in opalescent black feathers that shimmer when the light from the souls floating in the sea beneath him. Under the robe, Taako—there’s no way more than one person has that voice—is wearing a gauzy black shirt, layers of gold and silver necklaces glinting with dark gemstones, fitted shorts, and thigh-high stockings.

It’s—a look. It’s not a look Kravitz would have expected from a reaper, but Taako does look, well, strikingly beautiful. Ethereal.

Merle, because he’s Merle, can’t help himself. “Mirror, mirror on the wall—who’s the fairest of them all?”

Taako puts a hand on his hip and raises an eyebrow. “You’re looking at him.”

Kravitz can’t help the snort that escapes him and Taako glances in his direction, then turns all his attention his way. “You’re a smart cookie. Do you want to break this down or shall I?”

Kravitz looks at the rest of his team and at Lucas on the floor and sighs. “Necromancy,” he says. “The Raven Queen isn’t a fan of wizards who try and break the natural order of life and death. She has emissaries who enforce the rules for her when someone tries to break them—reapers.” Kravitz gestures towards Taako. “Which I’m guessing is your job.”

“Cha’boy is a bounty hunter for the Raven Queen,” Taako agrees, pressing a many-ringed hand to his chest. “I hunt down wayward souls that escape from the astral plane or those who escape from the eternal stockade—” He waves a hand at the prison island behind him. “—and put ‘em back where they belong. I gotta tell you boys, this lab is just full of souls that should be in the ghost house.”

“It’s a real abomination. Very much,” Magnus interjects. “It sounds like we’re on the same side here, Taako—”

Taako lets out a laugh. “Really? _Really?_ My dude, I came here for nerd lord over there, but the three of you were practically gift wrapped. Your bounties are much higher.”

“Hold on,” Magnus says. “That can’t be right.”

“Yeah!” says Merle.

“That’s not possible,” Kravitz says, and he knows it’s not because he knows the sort of crimes that get you in trouble with the Raven Queen and he’s committed none of them.

“Oh trust me, it’s very possible,” Taako says, and conjures the same ledger from earlier. “I’ll start with you, handsome. Kravitz—it says here you’ve died nine times and checked in, uh, zero. Math isn’t my strong suit, but that just doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t make any sense,” Kravitz says, frowning. He’d _remember_ dying. And if he _did_ die, he’d stay dead. That’s his whole thing, as a follower of the Raven Queen.

“You. Beefcake. Which one are you?” Taako asks, turning to Magnus.

“Uh, Magnus Burnsides,” Magnus says. “I think you’re making a mistake here. Maybe—”

“Nineteen times,” Taako says. “And zero trips. And holy shit, short stuff.” He looks at Merle. “You have any idea what I’ve got written down here?”

Merle looks at Taako, at a literal embodiment of Death, and shrugs. “No.”

“Fifty-seven times. I mean—and it’s been a long time since I was alive, so forgive me if I’m wrong here—but that just seems sloppy. I mean, what the hell, my dudes? How the fuck did you even find each other? Is this some weird new cult thing? All the cool kids were doing it and you thought—why not? Might as well try resurrection a few times for kicks and see what it’s like. Cool. Cool plan, guys. Real smart.”

As Taako taunts them, something starts to happen behind him. Shimmering grey lights—souls—start to pour out of the eternal stockade, swarming together. As they gel together, they start to morph into a form—into a massive spectral hand which is slowly sneaking up on Taako.

“You might as well just come in,” Taako says. “We could do the whole fight thing, but honestly it’s been a long night and Taako has other plans, so if you’d please just, you know, come on in. The water’s fine.” He pauses. “And by water, I mean jail.”

Kravitz sees Magnus almost warn Taako and then think better of it and stop himself. The hand is right behind Taako now and Kravitz knows he shouldn’t, knows he should just let this happen, but he can’t quite stop himself.

“Taako, behind you!” he says, and Taako’s ears snap to high alert and he whirls around just as the hand grabs him and yanks him back towards the eternal stockade, Taako casting flashy spells with his scythe as he’s pulled down and out of sight.

There’s a moment of silence while Kravitz stares at the stocked and worries.

“Well,” Magnus says, after a moment. “I guess we solved that puzzle. Lucas, can—” 

And then the crystals start to sing again and all hell breaks loose—literally. A light shoots from the disc Maureen is holding in the hand not wrapped around the Philosopher’s Stone and hits the mirror. Souls start streaming towards it, assembling themselves into a massive, horrifying skeleton that starts to climb out, into the lab.

Kravitz looks down at the lyre in his hands and, once again, regrets the life choices that led to him giving up his cushy gig as for-hire entertainment for adventure. Staring down an undead beast that took out an emissary of the Raven Queen, boring conversations about what a shit the Lord Protector of Neverwinter is sound pretty good. 

He glances at Magnus and Merle as Noelle and Carey start trying to deal with the attacking robots, at Lucas quivering like a coward in the corner, and strums his fingers over the lyre, casting Enhance Ability on Magnus to make him stronger as he tries to get at the mirror. It’s a good thought—cut Legion off before it can get into the material plane completely, and there’s—Kravitz sees the robots take aim at Lucas, looks at Magnus, who isn’t going to get there in time, and Merle, who isn’t good at shielding spells anyway, and slides across the room, shoving Lucas out of the way of most of the blasts aimed at him and taking quite a few hits himself instead.

“You—you saved me,” Lucas says, staring at him with wide eyes. “You—”

Kravitz dropped his lyre sliding across the floor. He clutches his sore rib cage, gesturing at it. “Lyre,” he says. “Now.”

Lucas scrambles to obey and as soon as the lyre is in Kravitz’s hand he’s strumming the strings, casting Thunderwave at the robots and sending them reeling back. He starts plucking out a song, trying to figure out what to do and trying to ignore the way Lucas is clutching at his shoulder as he glances around the room, the power building under his fingertips, and then he stops, eyes glued to the stalactite because—of course. Obviously.

Kravitz casts Shatter and is _very_ glad he took part of the hit meant for Lucas.

The spell hits the crystal and sends a crack up the side of it, creeping towards the ceiling, and then it falls and shatters, freeing the robot inside of it. As soon as the crystal hits the floor, it starts to spread.

Maureen Miller stumbles, in her robot form, at war with herself as one arm points towards the mirror and the other tries to tug it down. She curls up around the glowing conduit in her stomach and then dozens of spirits are flying out, into the room, and she’s suddenly much, much steadier on her feet. She turns her head towards Legion. 

“Get the hell away from my son,” she says, and then raises the hand with the Philosopher’s Stone in it, halting the crystallization of the lab in its tracks.

“Maureen, give me the stone!” Kravitz says, from his spot on the floor.

Maureen’s head jerks in his direction. “Why?” she asks. “Who are you?”

“I’m the man who saved your son,” he says, laying on his charm as thick as possible, using his refined gentleman voice. “I’m part of the team trying to stop all of this. Please, Maureen—trust me.”

“Your—your friend attacked Lucas,” Maureen says. “Why should I give it to you?”

Kravitz made a living as a bard, before the clusterfuck that is the Bureau of Balance happened to him. He places a hand over his head, looking up at Maureen and putting the full weight of his magic behind his words. “Because we’re going to undo all of this.”

Maureen hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Catch,” she says, and throws him the stone.

Kravitz dealt with the Bulwark Staff in Phandalin. He dealt with the Oculus on the Rockport Limited. Maybe he hadn’t done his _best_ work with the Gaia Sash, but two out of three is a pretty good track record.

The stone, when he catches it, is startlingly cold. It’s—beautiful. A deep red colour, almost black, garnet-like and set in gold like it was meant to be worn. It’s, honestly, the kind of thing that might catch Kravitz’s eye in a shop—shiny and dark at the same time. Tempting.

The voice that sounds in his head has a thick Cockney accent. “That’s right,” it says. “You like this, don’t you? Use me, use me. You can turn the world to gold. To ebony. Line your pockets, my man. Buy all the suits you want.”

“Shut up,” Kravitz says, stuffing the stone into his pocket. “That accent is _terrible_.”

Magnus takes a swing at the mirror with Rail Splitter, two-handed, and finally, finally manages to put a crack in it. It falls to the ground, on top of Magus, trapping him under its immense weight.

“Fuck,” says Merle, and Legion screams in anger and lashes out at Magnus, slamming a fist against him. Kravitz doesn’t know what Merle and Magnus have been doing, but Legion looks worse for the wear now, like its on its last legs. Kravitz ignores the voice murmuring to him from his pocket and reaches for his lyre.

There’s a sound, once more, like fabric tearing and suddenly there’s a rip in reality in front of him and Lucas and Taako is stepping out of it, ruffled and glaring. He’s wearing, Kravitz notes, extremely impractical but _very_ stylish high-heeled ankle boots coated in black glitter.

“Okay,” Taako says, twirling the scythe in his hand like it’s a baton and not a deadly weapon. “Okay, _fuck_ this dude, am I right?” 

“Please,” Kravitz says, and Taako shoots him a wink before casting Whirlwind and peeling layers of spirits off of Legion. When the souls come within range, he raises his scythe, swiping viciously and popping each one he encounters out of existence. Taako grins, vicious, and moves through the storm he conjured into the room like it’s nothing.

On the other side of the room, Merle raises his hands towards the ceiling. “I've been through a rough... a rough campaign here. I've had my arm chopped off. I'm not sure how I feel about Pan, because God lied—we've been all through that. I'm having a moment. I need guidance. I'm gonna take just a second just to do a quick prayer. I'm just gonna pray to Pan. Hope he answers! I’ll do it quick.” Kravitz exchanges a glance with Magnus, who looks equally awkward about this whole… situation. 

Taako, who _works_ for a goddess, is an aspect of her, looks like he’s holding back a laugh.

Merle closes his eyes. “Pan,” he says. “If you're there, and if you're not a big fat liar, tell me what to do!”

And then all watch as, for once, Merle’s connection with his god comes through for him—golden leaves bud on his soulwood arm, sprouting into a patchy bush that shapes his fingers into a finger-gun and points at Legion.

"Thank you," Merle says, choked up, and casts Banishment.

If Kravitz is completely, totally honest, he’s not expecting it to work. Historically, unless Merle’s making someone tell him the truth, his spells have a tendency to flop, but _this_ time Pan comes through for him. Legion lets out a many-voiced, wordless scream and is sucked back into the astral plane, through a small wormhole, along with the robot-spirits—all save Maureen, still kneeling by her son.

“Huh,” says Taako, banishing his scythe. “Well, fuck. You just saved me a whole lot of grief.”

Before Taako can expand on _how_ things are going to be made interesting, their stones of farspeech flicker to life. “Come in! Kravitz! Merle! Magnus! What’s going on? Carey, tell me, situation report! Have you secured the Philosopher’s—”

Magnus picks up his stone first. “Go for Magnus!”

“Have you secured the Philosopher’s Stone?” the Director asks. “We lost contact with you for so long. What’s the situation?”

“The Stone is secure,” Kravitz says, picking up the call and keeping his eyes trained on Taako. “The situation is under control now.”

“Good,” she says, letting out a sigh of relief. “I was worried we were going to have another Phandalin on our hands. And—Lucas? Have you detained him?”

Kravitz and Magnus exchange a glance. Kravitz raises an eyebrow, tilting his head at Lucas and Maureen and Taako and Magnus nods. “Unfortunately, Director… Lucas is dead.”

There’s a moment of shocked silence on the other end of the line. “... What? I—How?”

“He was killed by a big skeleton monster. Some kind of—we’ll explain when we’re back,” Magnus says, and winks at Maureen, who blinks some of her lights at him in response. Lucas is trembling on the ground next to Kravitz, who slowly picks himself up, dusting off his clothing, even if it _is_ a null suit and not real clothing.

“You thugs sure have an interesting gig, huh?” Taako asks, looking Kravitz and his null suit over. “How do a bard, a cleric, a fighter, and a rogue end up hanging out with ghost robots on Candlenights, taking on the worst souls in the astral plane?”

Kravitz thinks about Phandalin, thinks about watching a whole town suffocate to death because a dwarf under the thrall of the Bulwark Staff was struck by an arrow. “It’s a long story,” Kravitz says.

“Mm, maybe you could tell me about it sometime,” Taako says, and actually bats his eyelashes at Kravitz.

Kravitz can feel himself blushing, which is—unprofessional.

A slow smile spreads across Taako’s face and he takes a step closer to Kravitz, but then Magnus is clearing his throat next to them and—oh yeah, there are other people here, aren’t there? “Are you, uh, still looking to send us to hell jail?” Magnus asks.

Taako hums to himself and glances at Magnus, then back at Maureen and Lucas. “We-ell, here’s the thing,” he says, and his book appears beside him. “You three just helped stop the world—and more importantly, Taako—from being fucked, so, y’know, the way I see it, you never checked in to the astral plane, so technically you never escaped.” He looks up at the three of them and shrugs, tossing the book over his shoulder. It disappears as soon as it’s out of his line of sight. “Just don’t do it again or cha’boy will come a-calling.”

He turns to look at Lucas and Maureen, then at Noelle. “You, my dude, better fucking not mess around with necromancy again,” Taako says, to Lucas. “Next time I won’t be the one who comes looking for you, and trust me—you don’t want to meet my sister. Robot gals—you I can’t do anything about. You’re ghosties, which means you belong in the astral plane.”

Magnus frowns at that. “Without them, we wouldn’t’ve been able to stop Legion, and save your ass.”

“Sure,” Taako says. “Except this is a slippery fucking slope you’re setting up here.” He pauses and glances at the robots again. “Unless…”

“ _Unless_?” Magnus echoes.

“I mean, _technically_ their souls are in bodies,” Taako says, waving a hand at Maureen and Noelle. “Generally we don’t _kill_ people to collect their souls.”

Kravitz frowns because, again, he does actually know how some of this works. “Their souls belong in the astral plane,” he points out. “You can’t—”

“Kravitz,” Magnus says, shaking his head. “Don’t be a narc.”

“A good boy, huh?” Taako asks, looking Kravitz over again. “I can work with that.”

“How much extra time are we talking?” Magnus asks. “Twenty years?”

Taako lets out a bark of sharp laughter. “Twenty _years_ , my dude? That’s probably more than you’ve got. I was thinking _one_.”

“Five,” Magnus counters.

Taako considers this for a moment, then nods. “I could _probably_ do five, but, you know, you gotta sweeten the deal for ol’ Taako here.”

There is a brief pause. “Well,” Merle says, nudging Kravitz’s hip with an elbow. “We have this bard…”

Magnus nods. “Oh yeah, we _do_ have Kravitz. You _like_ Kravitz.”

“I’m not—” Kravitz can’t believe he trusts these two with his _life_ every time they go out on a mission together. “What about—a game instead?”

Magnus and Merle groan in unison. Taako’s ears perk up in interest. “Your friends _hate_ that one, huh? What kind of game, bubehlah?”

“Cards,” Kravitz says, ignoring Magnus and Merle as he reaches into his bag to pull out a deck. So he'd gotten a little distracted in Goldcliff. So he'd lost his gold and the ring he'd gotten from the gatchapon. There was no need to pass judgement. “You know poker?”

Taako wrinkles his nose as he looks Kravitz over. “Do I _know_ it? Sure. Do I want to _play_ it…? What about… go fish?”

“You want to play… go fish to determine the amount of time Noelle and Maureen have on the material plane?” Kravitz asks, because it is—an absurd proposition. And yes, okay, maybe Kravitz isn’t the _best_ gambler, but he enjoys it and poker is a game he’s generally pretty good at. Go fish he’s… unsure about.

“I don’t see why it’s any more absurd than playing poker,” Taako says, and he’s sort of got a point. “Deal ‘em up, hot stuff. Let’s get this party—”

Another rift opens in the room and out of it steps an elven women. She’s nearly identical to Taako in appearance, except she has a short, sharp undercut instead of his long braid, and under her feathered cloak she’s wearing fishnets under ripped jeans, combat boots, and what looks like a leather crop top. She takes one look around the lab and then turns to Taako. “So I heard there was a breakout tonight?”

“Shit,” Taako says. “You were supposed to be busy.”

“ _You_ shouldn’t have gone after some of the biggest bounties we’ve ever seen without me. And you _pardoned_ them?”

“Conditionally,” Taako says, and then gestures at Kravitz. “Lup, we’re busy here.”

Lup takes one look at Kravitz and then sighs. “Taako, you useless gay.”

“Hey!”

Lup raises an eyebrow.

“... Okay, fair,” Taako says. “ _Fine_ , I’ll wrap this up. Looks like we’ll have to continue this game later, thug. Lulu says no, so—”

“What about Noelle?” asks Magnus. “And Maureen?”

Maureen takes a step forward. “Lucas, I'm so sorry—I know you did so much to help me out but I can't stay. I have to go back. When I entered the cosmoscope, I saw something I should not have seen and it killed me and it destroyed my mind and I lost myself and my willpower was taken from me. The only way I was able to recover and fight off the spirits that inhabited me in that crystal stalactite was to partition what I saw in the cosmoscope to this conduit's internal memory. But as long as I'm here, I'm in danger of remembering, and I—I can't lose control like that again. I won't.” She looks at Taako. “Let Noelle have her time. I’ll come with you.”

“Seriously, babe,” says Lup, who is—going of the resemblance—maybe Taako’s sister. “What the fuck have you been doing all night?”

“It’s a long story and I’ll tell you at home,” Taako says. “Okay, sure—I’ll take Maureen. Noelle gets more time. Keep geek squad’s hands off the corpse jar from now on, capiche?”

“You got it,” Magnus promises.

Maureen turns to her son, kneeling down in front of him. “I know this seems unfair, but it's really not that bad over there—as dour as this sounds, we'll see each other again, someday.” She leans in to whisper something to him, and then her light pops out of the conduit of her robot form and floats over to Taako.

“Cool beans,” says Taako. “Well, I guess we’re going to head out—”

“Hey, Taako?” Magnus’s voice is strangely serious, sedate. They all turn to look at him. “Taako, could you… tell Julia I love her?”

Taako makes a face. “Uh—”

“Yes,” Lup says, from the other side of the room. “I’ll pass on your message.”

“Thank you,” Magnus says, quietly.

“All right, let’s blow this pop stand,” Taako says, stretching his arms above his head. His scythe appears, in his hand, and he twirls it around, cutting open another rift. He glances over his shoulder one last time, as Lup guides Maureen into the astral plane for a second time. “See you ‘round, handsome.” He winks as the rift closes up behind him.

“Aw, shit,” Merle says. “I was going to ask about Elvis.”

“I can’t believe we got away from that with our lives,” Kravitz says.

Magnus snorts. “I can’t believe the grim reaper was willing to give Noelle another five plus years if you went on a date with him. Did you think he was _cute_?”

“That’s not—” Kravitz flushes again. “He tried to kill us earlier tonight.”

“Lots of people have tried to kill us,” Magnus points out. “I like Killian a lot.”

“Killian’s great,” Merle agrees. “For someone who tried to kill us, he wasn’t so bad. You follow the Raven Queen.”

“This isn’t—I don’t have a way of getting in touch with him so this is all moot,” says Kravitz, which is when another rift opens up and another, small ball of light pops through.

“Hey, bard boy,” Taako says, floating over to Kravitz’s side. “Let me get your frequency.”

“My—frequency?”

“Ch’yeah,” says Taako. “How else are we going to reschedule our hard game?”

“That—right.” Kravitz digs out the stone, holding it up to Taako and watching it flash a few times before settling back to its normal, unlit state. He’s not sure what else to do. He’s _hyper_ aware of all the eyes in the room being on him right now, as he makes a date—maybe—with death.

Taako pulls back and Kravitz doesn’t know _how_ a ball of light manages to look cheeky, but he absolutely does. “Cheers,” he says. “I’ll—”

“Wait, wait!” Merle says, before Taako can leave again. “How’s—how’s Elvis?”

Taako laughs and Kravitz has heard it a few times now. It’s not a _nice_ laugh, not a pretty one, but it’s—charming, in a way. The way the cheek and the upfront flirting is. Kravitz feels like he got hit by a train plowing into a pleasure room portal.

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know?” Taako asks, and then pops out of existence.

Kravitz sympathizes with Taako. He is _absolutely_ to gay for this shit.  


*

Just before they get into Upsy the disturbingly fleshy elevator, Lucas gives them the conduit from his mother’s robot. Says he doesn’t want to know what drove her to temporary madness. Kravitz tucks it away and forgets it. They go back to the base. They hand over the Stone. The Director scolds them for talking with the Red Robe lich—and Kravitz follows the Raven Queen, he knows what a lich is—by the time they make it back to their place, it’s so late it’s early.

They’re in their apartment, picking at cold party leftovers, when a voice sounds from Kravitz’s bag.

It’s mechanical—lifeless and haunting. For a moment Kravitz thinks they missed a spirit in the lab, but when he digs out Maureen's conduit it’s unlit and inanimate, but still reciting words that sounds disturbingly prophetic: “I saw all of existence, all at once. I saw a dark storm, a living hunger, eating it from within. But I saw a brilliant light heralded by six birds flying tirelessly from the storm. I saw six birds: The Sworn, the Brother, the Protector, the Lonely Journal Keeper, the Peacemaker, and the Wordless One.”

A pause, and then it repeats the list: “The Sworn, the Brother, the Protector, the Lonely Journal Keeper, the Peacemaker, and the Wordless One.”

It repeats again, several times, and there’s something about the list that tugs at the edges of Kravitz’s mind, like an itch he can't quite scratch, something about it that feels... familiar.

He can see the same disquiet he feels reflected on Magnus and Merle’s faces. When the lantern finally dies and the words stop, they sit there, silently, staring at the empty conduit. Kravitz feels unsettled down to his bones. It's coded, but whatever this is, whatever it means, this is the vision that drove Maureen to madness.

Magnus breaks the silence. 

“That’s the worst Candlenights carol I’ve ever heard,” he says, and the joke is forced, but it breaks the tension. Merle lets out a loud bark of laughter and Kravitz let's himself relax, chuckles and snags a mini carrot from the vegetable platter in front of him. It's been a long night. Whatever the words mean, whatever might be coming, it can at least wait until the morning.


	2. Lunar Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kravitz is grimy and tired and maybe he didn’t ruin a suit this time, but the black short-sleeved button up, printed with tiny skulls, and the burgundy chino shorts had been brand new. His shoes are absolutely a lost cause, but that was on him for thinking suede was appropriate footwear for a gulch adventure. He absolutely needs to wash the dust out of his hair and then maybe sleep for a day. He unlocks the apartment door and sets his lyre down on the table beside it.
> 
> On the other side of the room, someone clears their throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Hannahlady, weatheredlaw, and anonymousAlchemist for taking a look at this beast of a part two and giving me feedback at various stages in its development.
> 
> Y'all, get ready for a _ridiculous_ amount of flirting?

Kravitz is grimy and tired and maybe he didn’t ruin a _suit_ this time, but the black short-sleeved button up, printed with tiny skulls, and the burgundy chino shorts had been _brand new_. His shoes are absolutely a lost cause, but that's on him for thinking suede was appropriate footwear for a gulch adventure. He _absolutely_ needs to wash the dust out of his hair and then maybe sleep for a week. His calloused fingers are sore from plucking out a song to keep the worm charmed as they led it away from Refuge. He’s got a gift from a goddess in the form of a locked bag and a powerful headache forming behind his eyes.

He keeps remembering Phandalin, seeing the faces of the people suffocating under the weight of the shielding spell Gundren summoned with the Bulwark Staff. The way they died, slowly and painfully. He keeps thinking about the offer the Temporal Chalice made him. He could have gone back to before he racked up thousands of gold in debt, could have opted to _not_ gamble away every penny he earned playing back alley card games run by Neverwinter’s shadiest crime syndicates—could have opted to at _least_ bet less recklessly, less _wildly_ , but Kravitz knows himself. 

Even if he’d taken the offer, it would only have delayed the inevitable.

There’s a hollow feeling in Kravitz’s chest that’s been there as long as he can remember—an emptiness he can never fill, though he’s tried. The thrill that came with placing a bet on a game of chance, on a roll of the dice, helped a little, except every time he kept putting down _more_ money, kept seeking a bigger high and—well, there are some people in Neverwinter you didn’t want to owe money to.

Back then, Kravitz had been a relatively public figure. He’d moved in the right circles. As someone hired for parties, sure, but he was still _at_ those parties. People recognized him. Certainly the people he owed money to did. He’d had no choice but to run, and with running—and debt—came poverty and desperation and taking the Phandalin job with Magnus and Merle.

The dull ache in his chest is still there, now, but it’s less pronounced. He’s never played in a band or anything before—never been part of a _team_. It’s… nice. The thought of being his own man again—of not belong beholden to his party—is nice too, but not in the same way friendship is.

Maybe it’s sentimental, but Kravitz is a bard. Deep down, he thrives off of the presence of other people.

That said, sometimes he also needs _alone_ time and he’s deeply grateful that Magnus and Merle both found somewhere else to be after they turned the Chalice over. Kravitz is going to take a bath, drink an entire bottle of wine, and pass out.

He unlocks the door to their apartment, sets his lyre down on the table beside it, and reaches up to let his dreads out of the bun he’s got them in, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand to try and relieve his blossoming headache.

On the other side of the room, someone clears their throat. Kravitz’s head jerks up towards the sound and for half a moment he thinks it’s Taako—Taako, who’s called him twice, at odd hours, to flirt via his stone of farspeech, and implied he wouldn’t mind seeing him again. Taako, who is a reaper for the Raven Queen. Taako, who has a nearly identical twin sister.

Kravitz stares at Lup standing there for a moment, then drops his hands to his sides. “You’re here about the deaths?”

“Eleven,” Lup says, raising an eyebrow at him. “I know Taako cut you boys a deal, but _really_? How did you die _eleven_ more times and not check in even once? And that’s not even accounting for the _entire town_ full of the highest bounties I’ve ever seen that just showed up on our ledgers.” She reaches out a hand and her scythe appears in it. “You think we _maybe_ need to have a chat about taking advantage of my brother’s thing for your cheekbones?”

Kravitz opens his mouth to protest that he hasn’t _taken advantage_ of anything and is interrupted by a rift tearing itself in the fabric of reality between him and Lup.

Taako climbs out, his back to Kravitz. “Lup, what the _fuck_? You thought you could just—” Lup nods in Kravitz’s direction and Taako freezes, then turns to look at him.

Kravitz is very, very aware of the state of his clothing and his hair and his, just, overall everything. The last time Taako saw him, he was wrapped up in a null suit—also not a good look.

“Maestro,” Taako says. “What happened to you being a good boy?”

“It’s a long story,” Kravitz says, kissing his relaxing night in the bath goodbye. There’s still a chance he could make some of his dreams real though. “Can I interest you two in a glass of wine?”

Taako and Lup exchange a glance. Taako smiles. “Ch’yeah,” he says, and banishes the scythe in his hand, dropping onto the couch. He’s wearing a high-necked black velvet crop top and a leather mini-skirt today. When he crosses his legs it becomes obvious that his stockings are thigh-highs. Kravitz has to look away. His focus should be on making sure his soul isn’t removed from his body, not on how nice Death’s legs are. “Taako would love a drink, handsome.”

“Babe, stop flirting with death criminals,” Lup says, also taking a seat on the couch. 

Kravitz leaves them to bicker, walking to the kitchen. He uncorks a bottle of red and then pulls out the three nicest glasses they have—two real wine glasses and a water glass, which is better than the alternative of having to drink out of a mug in front of two reapers. He’d say a prayer for good luck, but the Raven Queen would only laugh—these are her emissaries, her hands in the material plane.

He hopes they like the wine, or he’s maybe fucked.

Kravitz picks up the bottle and the wine glasses and then whistles, casting Mage Hand and keeping up an inappropriately jaunty tune as he totes the third glass with him back to the living room. Lup and Taako’s conversation cuts off as soon as he’s back, which means they were definitely talking about him.

Kravitz sets the bottle down and glasses down on the table, plucks the water glass from his spell, and pours Taako and Lup’s drinks before helping himself to a hefty glass.

“Forgive me,” he says, taking a sip of it as he sits in the chair across from the couch. “It’s been… a long day.”

“I mean, it’s been a while but I imagine dying _eleven times_ in a day would be a lot for you living folks,” Taako says, nodding like this situation isn’t extremely fucked up.

Kravitz glances at Lup, who meets his eyes and takes a long pull from her glass of wine before speaking. If he wasn’t so sure she wanted to kill him, Kravitz thinks he’d like her. “So, bard boy—what the fuck?”

“There was—a time loop,” Kravitz says. “Caused by a powerful relic called the Temporal Chalice. A little girl was trying to protect her town from being destroyed, but the whole town ended up repeating the same hour over and over again. It took us until the twelfth loop to sort everything out.”

Taako frowns at that. “Hold up,” he says. “I feel like we just started at episode forty-one or something. Rewind, homie. Start from the beginning. Relic?”

Kravitz sighs, takes another sip of his wine, and starts to explain. It helps that Taako and Lup both remember the Relic Wars. Years of war followed by a world-wide overnight ceasefire.

“Kinda sticks with you, everyone just deciding to _stop_ killing each other one day,” Lup says. “We’ve been around a long time and I’ve never seen fighting end so suddenly.”

“RQ was suspicious,” Taako agrees, and Kravitz can’t help wincing when he calls her that, even though Taako _works_ for her so they must have a good relationship. Taako notices, because of course he does. “What? You don’t think my girl would be suspicious about wars stopping for no reason? Lup and I had to run around Faerun for _weeks_ trying to figure out what happened, but all we knew was that everyone looked at us like we were crazy when we tried to talk ‘bout the fighting.”

“No, I—I’m sure she wouldn’t be a fan of that,” Kravitz says. “Sorry, I just—I should be used to this. I spend my time with Merle.”

Lup looks at Taako for clarification and Taako waves a hand carelessly. “The dwarf whose arm I jacked up. _What_ are you saying me and your crunchy dwarf friend have in common?”

Kravitz needs that bath and sleep. He pinches the bridge of his nose again. “I wasn’t saying you had anything in particular in common,” he says. “Just that… The Raven Queen is… your goddess.”

Lup and Taako exchange another glance. “Yeah,” Taako says. “Your boy is Pan’s man, my dude. Where’s the similarity?”

Kravitz has walked himself into a corner where he needs to tell a reaper that he thinks his attitude is irreverent. This isn’t exactly a shining moment for him. “I suppose I assumed you’d speak about her… a little more formally?”

Taako snorts into his wine glass. “It’s been centuries. Even goddesses get tired of ceremony eventually,” he says.

Lup nods. “And she likes us.”

Right. Okay. What does Kravitz know? He’s never talked with the Raven Queen. In Refuge, Istus had said the Raven Queen and Pan were her friends, that they would accept him and Merle becoming emissaries of Istus, but at the time it had felt—unnecessary. Kravitz’s faith in the Raven Queen is strong, but he isn’t a cleric and honestly he never even considered becoming one.

“If you remember the wars then this should be relatively simple to explain,” Kravitz says. “The organization I work for, the Bureau of Balance, it’s dedicated to finding and destroying the relics so they can’t hurt anyone anymore. They’ve got a creature called the voidfish. It erases memories. That’s why no one remembers.”

“This place sounds sketchy as fuck, thug. You know that, right?” Taako asks, frowning at Kravitz. “You live on a fake moon, erase memories, and collect powerful artifacts?”

“Destroy them,” Kravitz says, voice firm. “We _destroy_ powerful artifacts so they can’t hurt anyone anymore. Trust me. Or—Istus. You could ask her.”

Lup and Taako exchange a glance and Lup leans forward. “What do you _mean_ we could ask Istus?”

Kravitz reaches up and tugs at the twin chains around his neck, pulling both the Raven Queen medallion he wears and the new pendant, from Istus—a circle with a brass striped needle in the center of it. “I mean, she was in Refuge and we’re her emissaries now.”

They stare at the pendant for a long moment, then turn look up at Kravitz simultaneously, with identical exasperated expressions on their face. 

“Probably should have _led_ with that, thug,” Taako says.

In retrospect, yeah, starting this conversation with proof that he’d met a goddess who okayed the whole thing would _probably_ have been a good idea. “Like I said, it’s been a long day.” Kravitz can’t help smiling, even if Taako and Lup are looking at him like he’s an idiot. “Istus said she and the Raven Queen were, uh, tight.”

“Oh they’re _tight_ all right,” Lup says, amused. She drains the rest of her glass of wine and setting it down on the coffee table. “Okay, I’m going to take this back to the Queen and see what she says. Istus has probably reached out by now, honestly. Part of the whole _fate_ thing, I guess—she knows when a conversation needs to happen.”

“Yeah, you head out, Lulu. Cha’boy’s going to kick it here for a bit,” Taako says, raising his still mostly-full glass of wine. “A boy’s gotta drink, right?”

“Uh-uh.” Lup gives her brother a skeptical look. “I’m sure it’s all about the wine. Make good choices, babe.” She turns to Kravitz as she summons her scythe to cut a hole in the fabric of reality. “I’m _watching_ you, music man,” she says, her form going skeletal before him. “ _Closely_.”

Lup steps through the rift and it seals behind her.

On the couch, Taako makes an unimpressed noise. “Drama queen. We have shit to do during the day. Don’t worry about it. She’ll just keep an eye on your death count.”

Taako probably means for that to be more reassuring than it is.

“Are you—you’re not worried about what the Raven Queen is going to say?” Kravitz asks, after a moment of hesitation. “We _did_ die, and—Taako, it wasn’t their fault. The people of Refuge. They don’t deserve to be punished for what happened to them. They were trapped by a dangerous magical artifact. They had no choice. I’m a follower of the Raven Queen, but I think—”

“Yeah, about that,” Taako says, leaning forward and reaching across the coffee table. He twitches his fingers and Kravitz’s medallion floats towards him. “This is _real_ old, huh? You’re committed.”

“It’s—” Kravitz has had it since he was a child, but it was new when his mother gave it to him. “It was a present for my seventh birthday,” he says. “It’s not that old.”

Taako gives the medallion, and then Kravitz, a skeptical look. “Remind me, handsome—how long do humans usually live?”

Kravitz raises an eyebrow. “It depends on the human,” he says. “I believe the last time we spoke you said you didn’t think I had another twenty years.”

“Not if you run around chasing these artifacts you don’t,” Taako says. “Kind of a heavy job for a bard. Can’t you just, I don’t know, do kids parties? Bachelorettes? You’re pretty, my dude. They’d hire you in a heartbeat.”

Kravitz can’t quite stop himself from laughing. He takes another sip of his wine and shrugs. “I don’t know. I did work as a bard for hire, in Neverwinter. It was… nice.” The memories from the Chalice are too fresh, too raw for him to delve into them much—into how lonely he’d felt, playing for rich people. Into his downfall chasing a thrill. “Honestly, I think I needed some… excitement in my life. It felt… It was boring. Playing parties. Teaching the occasional rich kid. There was no _thrill_. Eventually the adrenaline of being on stage wasn’t enough to keep me going so… I moved on. I thought I’d make some money doing a few adventures for hire and then head back. That’s… not how things turned out.”

Taako is watching him with an odd expression on his face—open, curious, and a little… Kravitz isn’t sure, doesn’t want to assume, but maybe a little _smitten_. Taako sets his wine down and smiles. “Honesty hour, huh?”

“Just because I’m a death criminal doesn’t mean I can’t be honest,” Kravitz says, and his heart nearly skips a beat when Taako throws his head back and laughs because it’s _cute_ —it’s still the same objectively ugly laugh from last time, but Kravitz likes it.

“Okay, you know what? That’s fair,” Taako says, grinning at him. “Tell you what. I think this whole thing is going to blow over for you, but we really need another sesh because _you’ll_ want to know that for sure and I want to hear the rest of your story so let’s make a date. What do you say, Krav?”

There’s only one thing _to_ say. “Of course.” Kravitz doesn’t know what his schedule is going to be like, but they usually have _some_ downtime before they head out after another relic. And being a reaper probably means an uncertain schedule too. “When are you free?”

Taako pauses for a moment, like maybe he wasn’t expecting Kravitz to require so little convincing. “I—this weekend?” he suggests. “Saturday? You want to pick the place or should I?”

Kravitz has no idea what sort of date an emissary for the Raven Queen would pick. He kind of wants to find out, but he also know him going out for a solo evening trip would be highly unusual and he’s not actually sure how he’d get home from it. Avi needs to sleep too.

He smiles at Taako because the moon base only has a couple options and he knows _exactly_ which to choose. “Don’t worry,” Kravitz says. “I know the _perfect_ place.”

*

Kravitz has been a mess both times he’s seen Taako—in the null suit on Candlenights and in his ruined summer look the night after Refuge—but third time’s the charm. He’s wearing his favourite three-piece suit. Black, with a black shirt. It’s the suit he wore to impress potential clients back when he was a bard for hire. His tie’s got a playful silver skull motif, and his pocket square is white with red stripes—a subdued pop of colour that ties the whole thing together.

Kravitz looks _good_. 

Magnus wolf-whistles obligingly while Kravitz is on his way out the door. “Hot date?” he asks. “You never said you were seeing anyone. Who’s it with? Is it Johann?”

“Just because we’re both bards doesn’t mean we’d be a good couple,” Kravitz says. “Actually it probably means we’d be _terrible_ together. Too much rivalry.”

“So not Johann. That’s one person off the list,” Magnus says, grinning. “It’s gotta be _someone_ from the Bureau though, right? Avi?”

“I’m going now,” Kravitz says.

Magnus’s wiggles his eyebrows at Kravitz. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Kravitz shuts the door with maybe a _little_ more force than necessary. He’s not sure why he doesn’t want to tell anyone about Taako, exactly, except that it seems… private and it’s kind of nice to have some semblance of privacy when he lives and works with Magnus and Merle in what is almost a literal fishbowl. Kravitz has been alone all his life and the company is _nice_ , but sometimes it’s also a lot. Sometimes it’s nice to keep things to himself.

Besides, flirty calls over his stone of farspeech are one thing, this is another. It’s only their first date. Things with Taako might not work out the way Kravitz hopes they will. 

There’s also the fact that Taako’s responsible for Merle losing his arm to consider, even if Magnus has gotten most of the blame so far.

Kravitz makes his way across the Bureau quad to the one square building on the moon and settles in to wait for Taako in front of the Fantasy Costco.

When Taako arrives, it’s like Kravitz is seeing him in full colour for the first time. He’s left the black at home and in its place is a sparkly purple top and a pair of high-waisted teal shorts. His ankle boots are leopard print and the navy capelet wrapped around his shoulders _would_ tone the whole thing down, except the hem glitters with gemstones and finely embroidered flowers. 

Taako, in his pointed hat, with his hair braided back from his face, looks colourful and alive in a way that makes Kravitz’s breath catch in his throat.

“Well, _someone_ certainly cleans up nice,” Taako says, with a smirk that says Kravitz’s poker face is not holding up. “I like your style, thug.”

“Thank you,” Kravitz says, smiling and walking over to him. “You look lovely tonight, Taako.”

“Natch.” It’s a flip response, but Taako seems pleased by the compliment all the same. “Where we headed with you all dressed up?”

Kravitz offers Taako his arm and gestures up at the sign over the open doors of the Fantasy Costco. “We’re already here.”

Taako blinks at the big box megastore in front of them. There’s a moment when Kravitz thinks maybe he should have picked the Chug’n Squeeze instead, that maybe this is all about to go wrong because Taako was expecting something more explicitly _date-like_ , but then Taako lets out a bark of laughter and takes his arm. “You’re taking me on a date to a _fantasy megastore_ ,” he wheezes out. “Not gonna lie, Krav. This is a new one.”

“Do you date a lot?” Kravitz has been wondering how common this is. Taako’s hand on his arm is _cold_ and it’s a reminder that Taako’s… not alive anymore. If he ever was. Kravitz isn’t sure how reapers work and it seems like a rude thing to ask on the first date.

“I mean, it’s, uh, been a while,” Taako says, glancing around the store. “Do you have a _plan_ here or are we just browsing?”

Kravitz _does_ have a plan because he’s not completely unprepared. “Lap around the store. Pick up any snacks we want. Grab a bottle of wine. Head through the food court and then out onto the quad for a picnic?”

Taako gives him an impressed look. “Not too shabby.”

Kravitz snorts and rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”

“I mean, you brought me to _Fantasy Costco_ , maestro. Don’t sound so cocky.” Taako shoves his chest lightly, affectionately, and lets go of Kravitz’s arm so he can lead the way through the store. 

Taako’s ears twitch as he walks, listening to the sounds of the crowd around them. Saturday night is a busy time at Fantasy Costco, but Kravitz figures there’s plausible deniability in crowds. He didn’t check, but he’s pretty sure there’s some kind of policy against bringing outsiders—even those that are emissaries of gods—to the moon for dates. He has no desire to have to answer questions about who Taako is and why Kravitz thought it was okay to bring him here. Kravitz likes the Director, but that doesn’t mean he wants to have to run every aspect of his love life by her.

He and Taako make it to the back of the store, where the open fridges hold a vast array of cheeses, meats, and desserts in extremely large quantities, and Taako makes a pleased sound. “Got any dietary restrictions?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at Kravitz. “Because cha’boy sees a shitty looking sheet cake with his name _all over_ it.”

Kravitz laughs. He can’t help it. Buying an entire sheet cake for the two of them is the _definition_ of excessive, but the look of glee on Taako’s face makes it hard for him to even think about saying no. “We can absolutely get a sheet cake,” he says. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

“ _Please_. What do you _take_ me for? Chocolate, obviously.” Taako doesn’t even bother looking at the fridge. He waves a hand and a chocolate cake levitates out of the case, over to Kravitz. It’s got red flowers and the words _Happy birthday!_ written across it in generic looking cursive.

Kravitz takes the cake as Taako drops the spell, and then they’re off to further explore everything Fantasy Costco has to offer.

Honestly, Kravitz is surprised by how interested Taako seems to be in food. He browses the cheeses for a while, then dismisses them as unworthy and grabs a two-pack of spinach dip instead. When they wind their way through to the fruit and vegetable section, Taako seems genuinely sad that the one pound clamshell of organic grapes is all they can justify buying for the two of them.

“You can get _six_ avocados for fucking _nothing_ ,” he says, putting the mesh bag down regretfully. “You’re lucky you’re cute or I’d dump you for this store. There’s so much _food_.”

“Do you even need to eat?” Kravitz asks, as they head away from the produce, in search of something to go with the spinach dip.

“Me? No.” Taako shrugs. “Not technically alive here, my dude, but that doesn’t mean I don’t _like_ eating.” Taako picks up an oversized bag of pita chips, examining the ingredient list. “Wasn’t always a reaper though. I wanted to be a chef, but, uh, y’know… shit happens.”

Kravitz _does_ know. He knows viscerally how shit happens. “Conductor,” he says. “For me. I mean, I told you a bit about working as a bard for hire and how that turned out, but when I was little I wanted to be a conductor. Sometimes life just… gets in the way.”

Taako snorts, looking up at Kravitz as he tucks the chips under his arm. “Or death, in my specific case, yeah,” he agrees. “You, uh, said there was wine here?”

Kravitz can sympathize with needing a drink after this particular bout of unexpected honesty. “There’s definitely wine,” he says, and leads Taako to the booze.

If cake was treated with childlike happiness and cheese like Taako was a discerning connoisseur, the alcohol selection is approached as if Taako’s a college kid looking to get the most bang for his buck. He scans each shelf carefully and then picks up a hefty bottle of Fantasy Costco brand cabernet. Kravitz has had it before—it’s cheap, strong, and tastes more like sour grape juice than wine. 

Kravitz, whose idea of a _truly_ good time involves baccarat and a chance to wear a tux, gives the bottle a pained look. “Taako,” he says. “ _Please._ ”

Taako laughs at him. “We’re eating it with sheet cake, grapes, and spinach dip, bubelah. Who’re you trying to impress here?”

He has a point, but Kravitz also has to live with himself in the morning. His arms are full of cake, so he nods his head at a cab from the vineyards outside Waterdeep—not the best quality, but not the worst either. “Compromise?”

“Hey, if you wanna get fancy, you won’t hear Taako complaining.” Taako sets the bottle in his hand down and goes for the more expensive wine instead. “Should have known you were a classy boy, wearing a suit to Costco.”

“You like the suit,” Kravitz points out, because Taako’s eyes _definitely_ lit up when he saw it earlier.

Taako makes a face at Kravitz. “And you like the way my legs look in these shorts. Doesn’t mean we have to _talk_ about it.”

“I don’t mind,” Kravitz says. Complimenting Taako doesn’t sound difficult at all to him. “I _do_ like the way your legs look in those shorts. They looked nice in the stockings you wore the other night too.”

“Okay, cool. We’re _good_ on the compliment thing,” Taako says, and turns away, his ears tilted down and back. He’s not blushing, but Kravitz is pretty sure that’s only because of the death thing.

“Should have known better than to give a bard an opening,” Kravitz says, grinning at Taako. “Let’s pay and then get some snacks at the food court. I love their fries.”

“Sure. He’s a wine snob, but he _loves_ Fantasy Costco fries. Because _that_ makes sense,” Taako grumbles, following him.

Kravitz stifles his laughter as he leads the way towards the tills. “I’m multidimensional, what can I say?”

Taako opens his mouth to reply, but before he can speak he’s cut off by the appearance of the chief downside of shopping at Fantasy Costco—Garfield.

“Well _this_ is an unexpected surprise!” Garfield says, peering at Kravitz and the cake in his arms. “Are you having a _party_? Did you forget to _invite_ me?” 

Taako stares at Garfield for a moment, then turns to Kravitz and gestures vaguely in Garfield’s direction. “Hey, uh, what the fuck?”

Garfield looks at Taako, calculating eyes sweeping over him and his especially ostentatious capelet. “I’m _Garfield_ , the deals warlock! Are you here to make a _deal_?”

“I’m not having a party. This is just for us,” Kravitz says. “I was just going to pay asking price for these. I really don’t think we need to—”

“Nonsense! I’m always ready to make a deal with my _favourite_ customer.” Garfield winks at Kravitz and Kravitz sighs. He doesn’t know _why_ Garfield likes him, and, okay, occasionally Garfield liking him works out in his favour, but most of the time Kravitz would really rather _not_ with Garfield’s whole… everything.

Sometimes, though, it’s easier to just roll with it.

“Okay,” Kravitz says. “Let’s make a deal.”

Garfield rubs his hands together and leads they over to the customer service desk. “ _Excellent_ ,” he says. “I knew I could count on you to make the right choice. Now—you _just_ want this food? I can’t interest you in… anything else?”

“Seriously,” Taako says, watching as Kravitz puts the cake and dip and grapes down on the counter. “What the fuck is _happening_ here?”

“We’re making a _deal_!” says Garfield, as Kravitz takes the wine and chips from Taako to add to the pile. “So? You need an Alchemist’s Ring? A jar of bees?” Garfield gives Taako a knowing look. “What about a haunted doll? We have a few of those.”

There’s a beat, and then Taako rests his elbows on the counter, the air of slightly baffled amusement melting away into something sharper and colder. Taako smiles at Garfield, but it’s less like a friendly gesture and more like an assertion of dominance. A casual reminder that Taako is much more than he appears.

Kravitz probably shouldn’t find it as appealing as he does.

“If you had a haunted item I was interested in, I wouldn’t need to _pay_ for it, thug.” The threat hangs in the air until Taako leans back, clapping his hands together. “But cha’boy is off the clock! No ghost hunting for Taako tonight. What else have you got?”

Garfield clears his throat. “Well,” he says. “Fantasy Costco carries everything you could ever need. The Slicer of T’pire Weir Isles. The Ring of the Grammarian. The Flaming Poisoning Raging Sword of Doom.”

Taako’s eyebrows raise at that. “The what?”

“It costs 60,000 gold pieces,” Kravitz says, although what does he know—maybe the Raven Queen pays her bounty hunters exceptionally well. “Magnus comes in and looks at it sometimes.”

Taako whistles. “That’s a pricey piece of cutlery,” he says. “Magnus is the one who told you to vore the rock, right?”

Kravitz makes a face. Honestly he’s been doing his best to block out _that_ particular memory. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s Magnus.”

“You’ll eat a rock because your friend told you to, but you’re a snob about _wine_.”

Kravitz bumps his shoulder against Taako’s, smiling because he can’t help himself. “ _Please_.”

“No, you fucking deserve it.” Taako turns back to Garfield. “I think we’re _good_ on the deal front, homie. How much for the food?”

Garfield glances over the food in front of them, looking distinctly disappointed. “Twenty GPs,” he says. “Are you _sure_ I can’t interest you in—”

Kravitz puts the gold on the counter. “Thanks, Garfield,” he says. “We’re okay for now. I’m sure Magnus, Merle and I will be by soon.”

Garfield hums doubtfully. “Suit yourself! I can’t promise the same inventory the next time you’re in.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kravitz says, picking up the cake again. He lets Taako stack everything else on top of the cake box and grab the wine, then leads him to the food court.

“So, hey, quick question,” Taako says. “We couldn’t drink _before_ whatever the fuck that was?”

“That was Garfield,” Kravitz says, getting in line for fries. “I was hoping he wouldn’t be here tonight, but I think maybe he’s always here. And we couldn’t drink the wine before we paid for it because that would be stealing.”

“You know, for a nasty crime boy you’re kind of a narc.”

Kravitz looks at Taako and grins, unable to help himself even if this is _clearly_ Taako setting him up. “Am I nasty?”

“I certainly _hope_ so, handsome.” 

Taako winks and Kravitz can feel his cheeks burning, but the terrible over-the-top flirting is _cute_ and Kravitz is into it. Ridiculously, unfairly into it. “Play your cards right and you might find out,” he says. “You know, on our next date.”

“Are we having another one?”

Kravitz could make a joke, but he looks at Taako— all colourful and full of life, even though he’s technically dead—and wishes he wasn’t holding a cake so could take Taako’s hand. “I hope so,” he says, voice startlingly sincere even to his own ears.

Taako bites his bottom lip and looks away to hide the smile creeping over his face and Kravitz, because he’s a gentleman, politely ignores it, ordering their fries as he tamps down a smile of his own.

Once they have their fries, Kravitz leads them outside. The night is warm and here, floating above the rest of the world, the stars are bright and Faerun’s actual moon hangs heavy and full in the sky.

He stops beside one of the trees on the quad, sitting and then setting down the cake and snacks so he can take the fries from Taako and help him sit too.

“Another innovative idea. A night time picnic,” Taako says, unscrewing the cap on the bottle of wine.

“Hard to get a ride off this moon without telling my boss that I have a hot date,” Kravitz says, picking up one of the plastic forks from the box of fries so he can stab a couple. “I like the Director, but...”

“Some things aren’t her business?” Taako takes a swig from the bottle of wine and grins. “I feel you. Should have told me you had transport issues. I’ve got _ways_ of getting around. Much more convenient than whatever you’ve got going on here I bet.”

“Well, the second date is all you. I planned this one.” Kravitz breaks open the cake box up and slides it closer to Taako, plucking up the second fork from their fries so he can offer him that too. “You can whisk me off the moon and impress me.”

Taako laughs and takes the fork from him, digging into a corner of the chocolate cake. “I’m an emissary for a _goddess_. I’ve _got_ this.”

“I mean, so far I know you like cheap wine and cheap cake so…” Taako shoves his shoulder and Kravitz chuckles, digging a fork into his own corner of the cake. “I’m not judging. Just observing.”

“No matter how many stones you throw, you’ll still be the one who took me on a first date to Costco, my dude,” Taako says. “You’re a _bard_. Shouldn’t you be serenading me or something? Where’s your harp?”

“Lyre,” Kravitz says, as he reaches for the wine so he can take a sip too and wet his throat. Kravitz used to play everything from kids parties to stuffy balls. If Taako thinks Kravitz is afraid to step up to a challenge just because they’re in the middle of the quad, he’s got another thing coming. 

Kravitz clears his throat and leans towards Taako as he starts to sing. “Go from my window my love, my dove. Go from my window, my dear.”

Taako’s ears perk up and his eyes dart around the quad. If there are people around, he’s got a better chance of seeing them than Kravitz does, but it seems like a quiet night—not that Kravitz _minds_ putting on a show, even if _not_ drawing attention to his date with a non-Bureau employee would be the smarter move here. “Okay, that’s—”

Kravitz keeps on singing. “The wind is in the West and the cuckoo's in his nest, and you can't have a lodging here.”

“Okay!” Taako says, louder this time, and hits Kravitz’s shoulder. “Okay, I _get it_.”

Kravitz raises an eyebrow, raising his voice as he suppress the urge to laugh so he can keep his vocals steady and in tune. “Go from my window my love, my dove!” he sings, grabbing Taako’s arms when Taako lunges forward to try to cover his mouth. “Go from my window, my dear!”

“Yeah, we get it! You’re a bard!” Taako’s laughing as he struggles to regain control of his hands, tries to cover up Kravitz’s mouth, and then they’re tumbling over in the grass and Kravitz loses the thread of the song because he’s laughing too, looking up at Taako above him, on his chest.

Kravitz keeps a firm hold of Taako’s wrists, and opens his mouth to sing again, softer now, no longer trying to actively embarrass Taako. “The weather it is warm, it will never do thee harm, but you can't have a lodging here.”

Taako waits a bit, after Kravitz finishes the verse, as if he’s expecting more. “Are you done?”

“I could keep going.” Kravitz grins. “You want another verse?”

“ _God_ , no.” Taako snorts and pats Kravitz’s chest. “You can, uh, let me go now. As long as you don’t sing again I won’t try and smother you.”

“Didn’t take you for the shy type.”

“ _Shy_ ,” Taako scoofs. “Shoulda known you were gonna be a weird one. I had all the clues. The fuckin’ _rock_. Fantasy Costco. Your weird warlock friend. I mean you’re a _death boy_. That was a big ol’ warning sign, to be honest.”

Kravitz can’t bring himself to mind that he’s being dunked on right now or that he’s rolling around in the grass in a three-piece suit. Even the chill of Taako’s body against his doesn’t bother him because Taako looks lovely in the moonlight. Ethereal. Taako looks lovely and he’s funny and open and Kravitz likes him. A lot.

Kravitz releases Taako’s wrists so he can reach up and cradle Taako’s face in his hands. “Can I kiss you?”

Taako looks momentarily, charmingly, thrown, and then he’s frowning down at Kravitz like he can’t make any sense of him. “Moving kinda fast for a first date there, bubelah.”

“Second if you count wine the other night,” Kravitz says.

“Shitty first date,” Taako says, after a moment. “My sister was there for half of it.”

“Couldn’t have been that bad. We’re on our second now.” Kravitz’s thumb brushes against Taako’s jaw. “It’s okay if you’re not—”

And then Taako is kissing him and it’s a little cold and a little weird, but it’s— _nice_. More than anything else, it’s nice. Taako’s lips are soft and plush, sticky from lip gloss. He tastes like chocolate cake and wine and Kravitz lets one of his hands slide around to cup the back of Taako’s neck and everything feels so _good_. It feels _right_.

Kravitz lets out a stuttering breath when Taako pulls away, breaking the kiss. Taako seems to have forgotten to breathe at all.

They stare at each other for a moment and then Taako pats his chest, looking anywhere but Kravitz’s eyes. “So,” he says. “Third date next time, huh?”

Kravitz laughs and lets himself relax under Taako, nodding. “Third date,” he agrees, shifting his hands to settle them on Taako’s back instead. “Still have to finish the second one though.”

Taako sits up on top of him, his thighs bracketing Kravitz’s, and winks. “Wasn’t planning on cutting the night short, handsome. Taako’s still got plenty of cake to eat and wine to drink. Just wanna plant that in your mind.” Taako gives him an appraising look and reaches down to play with one of the buttons on his vest. “Third time’s the charm.”

*

Taako calls Kravitz the night before their next date and tells him to dress up. “Fancy even for _you_ , Mr. Three-Piece-Suit to Costco,” he says, voice teasing and affectionate in a way that makes Kravitz glad he’s alone in his room so Magnus and Merle can’t see him smiling like a loon. “Cha’boy’s got _plans_.”

“Plans?” Kravitz repeats.

“Nuh-uh, no hints,” Taako says. “I’ll swing by around eight to pick you up.”

The Director has them in training pretty much non-stop, so _leaving_ for the date at eight isn’t ideal, but Taako’s obviously put thought into this. Kravitz can definitely stay awake for Taako. If he needs to have a cup of coffee after getting dressed to make _sure_ of that, that’s perfectly fine. Totally healthy.

Kravitz took Taako’s ask to heart and dressed to impress, donning his nicest suit. He hasn’t had the chance to wear it since he gave up performing and, yeah, okay, he should have sold it to help pay off his debts, but it was one of the first _really_ nice things Kravitz ever owned. He’s absurdly sentimental about it and it only comes out for special occasions.

Kravitz is trying not to overthink the fact that he considers his third date with Taako a special occasion.

This suit is in his usual dark colour palette, but the jacket is made from thick brocade, patterned with a subtle black-on-black floral motif and flecked with gold thread. The heft and sheen of the jacket is, frankly, spectacular. Kravitz turns heads every time he wears it.

He threads a few gold beads onto his dreads and leaves the apartment he shares with Magnus and Merle—if he waits until they’re not in any shared living spaces then that’s fine, _definitely_ doesn’t count as sneaking out—feeling good about himself and the overall impact of his look.

Taako shows up in a gauzy navy jumpsuit with a plunging neckline and long caplet sleeves that hang over his shoulders and nearly brush the ground. It glints like the night sky, specks of silver and gold glitter catching the light, when he moves. His hair is loose around his shoulders and he’s wearing a silver choker that only serves to call attention to all the _skin_ on display. Kravitz doesn’t know why he even bothered dressing up because there’s no way anyone’s going to be looking at him tonight.

He swallows heavily, and when he looks up at Taako’s eyes, rimmed with dark liner, he sees his appreciation mirrored in Taako’s gaze.

“You listened,” Taako says.

Kravitz steps closer to Taako, taking his hand and raising it to his lips so he can kiss the back of it. It feels like the right thing to do. “How could I not? You asked so nicely.”

“No I didn’t.” Taako grins at Kravitz, crooked and amused, showing off the gap between his front teeth. “If you’re looking for _nice_ , I’m not the elf for you, my dude.”

Kravitz can’t help it if his eyes flick down to Taako’s chest again. “Not looking for nice.” Taako’s smirking at him now, looking extraordinarily pleased with himself, which is fine because Kravitz is feeling pretty good about everything happening between them too. He kisses Taako’s wrist and then lets go of his hand. “You look spectacular tonight, by the way.”

Taako preens even as he waves a dismissive hand in response to the compliment. “Natch. Taako _always_ looks spectacular.”

Kravitz… honestly can’t refute that. He offers Taako his arm. “Where are we headed?”

Taako takes his arm and then holds his other hand out to his side, summoning his scythe. “ _Not_ Fantasy Costco,” he says. “Cha’boy’s a class act.”

Kravitz hums doubtfully, mostly to see Taako react.

Taako squawks in protest and hits Kravitz’s shin lightly with the base of his scythe. “Fucking bards. Always trying to be witty.” Taako’s smiling as he raises his scythe though. He brings it down and tears open a hole in time and space. “Come on, let me show you the world.”

Taako leads the way through the hole, which makes stepping out into the unknown with a reaper a slightly less terrifying prospect. On the other side of the portal is… a supply closet. Shelves packed with cleaning products. Brooms, mops, buckets, warning signs—the whole nine yards.

Kravitz looks around the closet, then turns to Taako, raising an eyebrow. “ _This_ is nicer than Fantasy Costco?”

“Funny. Gimme some credit here, music man,” Taako says, and opens the closet door to reveal the gaming floor of one of Goldcliff’s most opulent casinos.

It’s a shock. A complete and utter shock that takes Kravitz a moment to parse because this is _exactly_ the kind of place Kravitz used to go when he had the time and the money. It’s the kind of place he’d go for fun before falling into debt, before the adventuring, before joining the Bureau of Balance. It’s exactly the kind of place he used to _love_.

Now? Now he’s not so sure.

Taako must see the flash of uncertainty on Kravitz’s face because he squeezes his arm. “You good, handsome? We can fuck off to the buffet if you don’t want to play. I, uh, thought this was something you were, you know, _into_.”

Kravitz had tried to play a game for his and Merle and Magnus’s souls with Taako when they first met. Taako bringing him here means he remembers that. It means he probably also remembers that Magnus and Merle had _immediately_ expressed doubts about the idea.

Kravitz isn’t actually _bad_ at gambling. He knows how to play cards and he’s good at it, as far as anyone can be _good_ at games of chance. It’s just that they are _games of chance_ , and Kravitz doesn’t like to cheat when he plays. Some people might get a thrill out of seeing if they can get away with cheating, but Kravitz likes the thrill of discovering whether or not luck—or _fate_ , as the case may be—is on his side.

Winning is good. Winning brings money and adrenaline the exhilaration of _beating_ everyone else and the house. But _losing_ is a rush too, in its own way. Back when he made his living entertaining stuffy rich people, losing had raised the stakes in his life in a way he’d sorely needed. Was that healthy? No, definitely not, but it was the truth.

“I’m into this,” Kravitz says, patting Taako’s hand and stepping out of the closet with him. “I’m maybe… a little _too_ into this.”

Taako cocks his head to the side, looking him over. “Huh. Not what I would have expected from you with your whole… you know, _good boy_ thing.”

“I’m really not that good,” Kravitz says. “You’ve _seen_ the things I’ve done.”

“What, saving the world from turning into a giant fuck-off crystal? Warning me about Legion?” Taako raises an eyebrow at Kravitz. “Saving a town from dying over and over again forever? Negotiating for their lives with me and Lup even though you were fucking _exhausted_ after? Sure. You’re not good _at all_.”

“Well, I mean… that’s…” Kravitz frowns. “People who aren’t inherently good can do good things. You can do good for the wrong reason. Besides, my boss is the one who decides what missions we go on.”

Taako reaches out and grabs a cocktail from a passing tray, offering it to Kravitz. “We don’t have to get into the metaphysical implications of free will and the choices we make right now. Just, uh, just tell me if this is gonna be fun for you and if the answer is no, we’ll blow this joint.”

Kravitz honestly isn’t sure how he feels about casinos anymore. He watched his ruin play out in front of him in Refuge. And sure, that had happened in back alley games, not brightly lit casinos, but casinos were kind of all the same, dressed up or dressed down. No matter how fancy the packaging, gambling is gambling.

But this particular casino is... _very_ fancy.

The ceilings are painted with elaborate frescoes—scenes out of legends and songs that even _Kravitz_ doesn’t know—and framed with molded plaster that’s leafed with gold. Chandeliers made of glittering crystal dot the room and the mirrored walls make the casino floor appear even larger than it is. The bright light reflected off the mirrors is offset by the wooden furniture, all dark and upholstered with rich fabrics. The gaming floor centers around an elaborate marble fountain and hundreds of people, all dressed to the nines, crowd the room. They’re dripping with fur and jewels and _reek_ of money.

It’s _spectacular_.

So spectacular, in fact, that Kravitz suspects he wouldn’t have the money to play here even if he wanted to. Working for the Bureau’s made him _comfortable_ , but there’s a difference between comfort and whatever _this_ is.

“Can I watch you play?” Kravitz asks, taking the glass with a smile. Kravitz is pretty sure Taako just stole someone’s drink, but Taako’s cute and obviously happy to be here with Kravitz so he’s not going to question it.

“You wanna watch? Kinky.” Taako winks at Kravitz and then snags another drink off a tray the moment the server’s back is turned. “Yeah, sure. I like the one with the spinny wheel. That good for you?”

It takes Kravitz a moment to translate ‘the one with the spinny wheel’ into the name of an actual game. “Roulette?”

“Yeah, that one,” Taako says. “Come on, bard boy. Let’s paint the town.”

Kravitz takes a sip of the highball Taako stole for him—a gin and tonic—and follows him to the roulette table. When he sees that the minimum bet is 50 GP he balks a bit, glancing at Taako. “You _sure_ this is the one?”

“I like the wheel,” Taako repeats, and reaches into his pockets, pulling out a handful of chips. “We’re good. Cha’boy’s prepared for tonight.”

Taako exchanges his chips for purple table chips, then turns to Kravitz. “Got a lucky number?”

“You shouldn’t—” Kravitz hesitates. Backseat gambling is still just _gambling_ and he said he wasn’t going to do it anymore, but _fuck_ if he doesn’t want to. Taako’s got 50 GP in chips for a 50 GP table. Kravitz can’t let him use them all on an unlikely bet right off the bat.

Kravitz looks at the table, looks at the bets already play, and then at Taako. “We’ll bet the outside for now. Fifty on red.”

Taako’s eyebrows raise and he leans over to put his chips on red. “Wait, do you actually know how this game _works_?”

“It’s… it’s not that complicated,” Kravitz says. “You’ve got better odds betting the outside because they’re more likely to hit. Less of a payout, but we’re starting off small. When you move inside things get more interesting because your bets are less likely, but we’re going to make money to play around with first. I mean, after this we could just grind the first and third dozen after this, but that’s a little dull so—”

“No more bets!” the dealer—a tiefling in the casino’s uniform gold vest—calls, waving a hand over the table. A spell starts the wheel spinning and the ball rolling.

Taako presses close to Kravitz’s side as he leans over the table to peer at the wheel. His ears are perked up with interest and he has a gleeful look on his face. It’s endearing. Kravitz already knew he had it bad, but all of this is hammering home just how bad _bad_ is. “I can’t believe you wanted to play roulette and you don’t even know how the game _works_.”

“Uh, have you _seen_ roulette?” Taako glances up at him. “It’s got a _spinning wheel_ and you get to put your chips on the table yourself. This game is sexy as _fuck_. Why _wouldn’t_ I like it?”

Taako has a point. Roulette _is_ an objectively sexy game. If he’s honest, that’s why Kravitz learned how to play. He’s fond of the aesthetics. But he certainly didn’t bet _actual money_ on the game before he knew how it worked. “Because it’s… money.”

“Perks of being dead, my dude. Not really an issue anymore.” Taako perks up, grinning as the wheel stops and the dealer drops the dolly marker down on sixteen—red. “Fuck! Does that mean we _won_?”

Kravitz feels the familiar flush of victory in his veins—the heady rush of knowing he bet _right_. “We won,” he confirms. “Doubled our money.”

“What next?” Taako asks, as 100 GP worth of chips is pushed across the table to him. “You said we could grind on something?”

“It’s not as fun as it sounds, but yeah, we can do that. It’ll make us money faster as long as the ball doesn’t hit the second dozen and bankrupt us.”

Taako shrugs because, okay, yes, Kravitz hasn’t _actually_ explained how the game works yet, but puts 50 GP each on the first and second dozen for the next spin anyway. Kravitz’s eyes are locked on the dealer and the wheel and he’s doing his best not to think about lucky numbers.

“I don’t want you to lose your money because you’re listening to me,” Kravitz says, wrapping an arm around Taako.

Taako snorts and leans back against him. He feels warmer tonight, somehow, but he’s still cooler than the rest of the room. It’s nice, with all the warm bodies around them, to feel how _different_ Taako is to everyone else around them.

“Like _I_ said, the dead don’t really care about money. Let loose, my dude. Have some _fun_.” Taako reaches up to play with the buttons on Kravitz’s shirt. “We’ve got all night.”

Kravitz is so distracted by Taako’s delicate fingers that he almost misses the moment when the ball lands on thirty and one of their bets hits.

“A hundred and fifty gold!” Taako presses a quick kiss to Kravitz’s jaw and turns his attention back to the table, delighted. “I knew bringing an emissary of Istus to a casino was a good call. You’re my lucky charm.” Taako’s hands curl around the lip of the table and he looks at the chips with hungry eyes. Maybe Taako doesn’t _need_ gold, but it’s clear he doesn’t object to winning it either. “What’s our next bet, handsome?”

Kravitz really did _intend_ to stay on the sidelines and watch, but it’s easy to fall into old habits. Roulette might not be his game, but that doesn’t mean it’s hard for him to get invested in how the game is going, especially when the table is hot and they keep _winning_. Directing Taako’s bets is easy—he starts off safe, loses some, but builds up a nice little nest egg by keeping on the outside, grinding the dozens and holding back a little, and then suddenly they have 5000 GP and Kravitz can’t help raising the stakes.

“Let’s make this _interesting_ ,” he says, his eyes locked on the table. “Keep some money in the dozens, but start betting the corners.”

“Sure,” Taako agrees, easy as anything. “Gonna have to tell me what the fuck that means, but let’s go for it.”

“You can put your chips on four numbers at once,” Kravitz says. “By putting them in the corner of the boxes. Let’s bet 10-11-13-14. They’re due to come up.”

Taako hums, reaching over to place 50 GP in the corner where the four numbers meet. “I don’t think that’s how, uh, games of _chance_ work, but okay. You weren’t kidding when you said you were a little _too_ into this, huh?”

Right. Kravitz shouldn’t be betting Taako’s money recklessly. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s cool. Good to know.” Taako grabs another 2000 GP worth of chips and adds it to the first bet on the corner. “Like I said, the money doesn’t matter. We’re here to have fun.”

Kravitz is about to protest the sheer amount of money Taako’s going to throw away on an unlikely bet, but then the wheel is spinning and it’s too late to change his mind, and then the ball _actually lands_ on 11 and he and Taako stare at the table incredulously.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Taako says. “Krav, _what the fuck_?”

What the fuck is _right_ because they just—Kravitz is doing mental math on the 8-to-1 odds, plus the money they got from their bet in the first dozen, and _shit_. “Taako… Taako that’s like 17,000 GP.”

Taako can say money doesn’t matter all he wants, but he still looks thrilled as the dealer pushes a large pile of chips across the table to him. “Gimme a number, bubelah.”

“A number?” Kravitz repeats. “Taako—”

“Come on. Having fun, remember? Gimme a number.”

“Six,” Kravitz says, without thinking about it, and then wonders why _six_ , because it isn’t one of is lucky numbers. The bird thing from the lantern Maureen gave them is stuck in his head.

“Cool,” Taako says, and then looks at the dealer as he pushes a large pile of chips forward and starts stacking. “I’m going to bet 5000 on six.”

There’s not worrying about money and then there’s _not worrying about money_. “Taako, you _can’t_ —”

“My money to lose,” Taako says, waving away Kravitz’s concern. “We’re on a roll.”

Kravitz has played this game before. He’s made these _on a roll_ bets. He knows what happens next, and what happens next is Taako loses 5000 GP.

And then the wheel spins.

And the ball drops.

And it lands on six.

Kravitz and Taako both freeze in place as the attention of _everyone_ at the table turns to them.

5000 GP on a single number bet. That’s—

“Holy _shit_ ,” Kravitz says, staring down at the table. “Taako.”

Taako lets out a strangled laugh. “We _won_?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to close up this table for the night,” the dealer says, as he begins counting out the payout for Taako’s bet. “Our apologies for the inconvenience. Our other tables will be happy to welcome you to their games.”

“Taako, you _broke the bank_.” Kravitz has spent a _lot_ of time in casinos and never in his life managed such a strong win against the house. This kind of win should be _impossible_. They walked in with 50 GP worth of chips and they’re leaving with over 175 _thousand_ gold. “Holy _shit_.”

Taako accepts the chips from the dealer and then immediately hands him 5000 GP back. “Buy yourself something that’s not an ugly gold vest, my dude. I’m gonna take my arm candy and cash out. Seems like a good time to blow this joint.”

Taako’s got a point. Casino security is eyeing them now, looking like maybe they want to ask them politely to leave or else to make a few more big bets so they can lose the insane amount of money they just won.

Kravitz is tempted. There’s some part of him saying they should take their money to another table and let it ride. Bet it all on black. Or better yet, take it to the baccarat tables and see how they do there, when there’s more skill involved. Maybe even to the slots. There are so many options and they’ve only had one drink each so far. Why not make a _real_ night of it?

Taako is much better at not giving in to his urges, or maybe he doesn’t have the same kind of drive to gamble that Kravitz does. They cash out and leave holding the most gold Kravitz has ever experienced having in one place before.

“I can’t believe you bet that much money on six and you _won_ ,” Kravitz says, laughing as they step out in the warm spring night.

Taako grins and presses himself up against Kravitz’s side. “You picked the number. You won too, maestro. You should take the winnings. You can buy yourself that cool expensive sword with it. Seems like the kinda thing a fella in your line of work could use.”

“Taako, I can’t—that’s _your_ money. We started with chips you bought.”

Taako snorts. “Nah,” he says. “We started with chips I transmuted.”

Kravitz stops walking. “What?”

“Don’t need money in the astral plane, my dude. Don’t know how many times you need to hear it before it sticks. Cha’boy doesn’t carry gold pieces,” Taako says, shrugging. “So I transmuted some leaves. It’s cool. They won’t know it was us.”

Kravitz stares at Taako, wide-eyed, and sends a prayer up to the Raven Queen on behalf of both himself and her reaper because they just _fleeced_ one of Goldcliff’s nicest casinos, and casinos don’t _get_ that nice through ethical, above-the-board, non-gang related business practices.

Kravitz should know. There are people in Neverwinter he owes a _lot_ of money to.

“Queen bless us,” he says.

Taako quirks an eyebrow at Kravitz. “You good? You gonna hyperventilate on me?”

Kravitz can’t quite help the laugh that pushes its way out of him. “We stole from a casino.”

“Is this a _good boy_ thing?” Taako asks, obviously amused. “Are you going to tell me we should give the money _back_? Because we can—”

“No,” Kravitz says. “No, they’re not—I mean _I_ don’t feel bad about stealing from a casino. They’re a _casino_. It’s not like we stole from the other players or anything it’s just…” He trails off into a chuckle, tugging Taako closer and kissing him. “How am I supposed to ever top this?” he asks. “For our third date you made me an accomplice in a _casino heist_.”

Kravitz feels Taako smile against his lips. “Better get creative, thug. I expect big, big things from you.” Taako’s cool hands snake under Kravitz’s jacket. “But the date isn't over yet.”

They’re out on a public sidewalk, so Kravitz tugs Taako sideways, towards a shadowed alcove in the casino’s vast exterior facade. Neither of them is dressed for stealth, but here, in the relative dark, it’s easier to make out without running the risk of someone asking them to stop.

“Never said I wanted it to be,” Kravitz says, and kisses Taako again, winding his arms around Taako’s waist and holding him close to his chest.

Taako melts against him, letting out a soft groan against his mouth. “You’re so _hot_ ,” he says, and then there’s a pause while they’re both processing the words he just said. Taako pinches Kravitz’s side _as_ he starts to laugh. “You know what I _mean_. You’re like a fucking radiator. I don’t know how you can stand walking around in so many _layers_ all the time.”

“You don’t seem to mind _that_ much,” Kravitz says, pressing his lips to Taako’s neck.

“No, uh, no objections here,” Taako says, voice going breathy as Kravitz’s mouth moves lower. There’s so much _skin_ on display. How could he not? “ _Fuck_. Yeah, no, Taako’s good with warm. Why don’t we—”

Taako freezes, suddenly, in his arms, and then he’s pulling away, frowning as he looks around.

“Taako?” Kravitz glances around too, but he’s a human. His darkvision is for shit. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something here,” Taako says. “Something dark.”

Kravitz suddenly wishes he’d thought to bring an instrument with him, but a lyre was a _little_ hard to cart around. “Dark?”

“Something…” Taako turns to Kravitz suddenly, gaze sharp. “You don’t know anything about a lich, do you thug? Because I have a _distinct_ memory of sensing something that _felt_ like a lich on Candlenights and there’s sure as _fuck_ one hanging around now. Got any suspicions you wanna share with the class?”

Kravitz absolutely knows something about a lich who’s been hanging around him, Magnus, and Merle. He doesn’t know why the red robe lich would follow him on a _date_ though. It’s not like Kravitz is out searching for relics. He’s just… flirting with Taako and stealing money from a casino.

He should tell Taako about the lich. The lich is creepy and weird and seems to think Kravitz knows him, even though that’s impossible. Reapers like Taako _deal_ with liches.

Then again, their lich isn’t exactly an _ordinary_ lich.

“No,” Kravitz says. Starting off a relationship with a lie is a bad move and he knows that, but something in him doesn’t want to give the lich up. Not yet anyway. “But I—we, I mean. Magnus, Merle, and I hunt down and destroy powerful relics. It’s possible there’s a lich who’s worried we’re going to find their phylactery and destroy it too.”

Taako glances around again, obviously not quite satisfied with the explanation, but willing to take it. “Yeah,” he says. “That tracks. They’re obsessive fuckers.” He sighs and turns back to Kravitz, reaching up to pat his chest. “Sorry, thug. The undead are as effective as a cold shower for ol’ Taako and I should _technically_ report this. You wanna pick this up on date numero four?”

“Of course,” Kravitz says, taking Taako’s hand and kissing his palm. “I’ll call you to arrange it. Could I…”

“Get a ride back to the moon?” Taako summons his scythe and leans in to peck Kravitz on the lips. “No problem, bubelah. I got you.”

Taako cuts a swath in the fabric of reality and opens up a portal to Kravitz’s apartment. On the other side, Magnus and Merle sit on the couch in their shared living room looking _very_ startled. Kravitz hesitates for a moment, then sighs and steps through the rift. There’s no helping this now.

Taako pokes his head through the portal and wiggles his fingers at Magnus and Merle in greeting, before tugging Kravitz down for one last long, lingering kiss. “Sweet dreams, handsome,” he says, a wicked grin on his face. “Call me.”

“I will,” Kravitz promises, unable to keep from smiling even though he knows he’s got an awkward explanation to give as soon as this is over. “Good night, Taako.”

Taako winks as he pulls back and the rift closes up behind him. Kravitz stands, his back to his friends, and imagines a better world, where he didn’t have to do this, then turns to face them.

“So,” he says, smiling as blandly and innocently as possible when he’s been caught red handed. Magnus looks shocked. Merle, strangely, doesn’t seem all that surprised. “How has your night been?”

Magnus grabs the throw pillow next to him on the couch and flings it at Kravitz’s head. Kravitz only _just_ manages to catch it before it slams into his face. “You’re _dating_ the _grim reaper_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment and leave a kudos if you did. They're greatly appreciated! 
> 
> The song Kravitz sings in this chapter is Go From My Window, a 16th century folksong. There are many versions of it, but [I'm going to link you to this version](https://open.spotify.com/track/5HxYDEXwECRObevpjTqg0k), sung by Cathie Ryan.
> 
> Part three takes us to Wonderland. I have _big_ plans! Come talk to me about them on tumblr, where I'm [@marywhal](http://marywhal.tumblr.com/)


	3. The Suffering Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wonderland is bright and flashy and Kravitz doesn’t trust it for a minute. All the glitz isn’t what he imagined when the Director mentioned a chess game. He’s not sure what they’ve found instead, but there are elves posing on a rotating, circular platform. Loud, pulsating music fills the air, and the elves are lit by two massive flood lamps, neon lights blinking behind them.
> 
> Sure, they walked into Wonderland knowing it was a trap, but it’s like the elves aren’t even trying to hide it. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that whatever this is—whatever's going on—it's all about to get very bad, very fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached Wonderland! I hope y'all... enjoy?
> 
> If you're worried about any of the content for this chapter, please see a [full list of the sacrifices made here](https://pastebin.com/rw4BBN4t). For obvious reasons, this contains _major spoilers_.

Wonderland is bright and flashy and Kravitz doesn’t trust it for a minute. All the glitz isn’t anything like what he pictured when the Director said she wagered twenty years of her life on a chess game. He’s not sure what they’ve found instead, but there are elves posing on a rotating, circular platform. Loud, pulsating music fills the air, and the elves are lit by two massive flood lamps, neon lights blinking behind them.

The elves are dressed in a way that kind of reminds Kravitz of Taako, but without any the _realness_ of Taako and the way he dresses. Taako’s outfits are over the top, sure, but they’re _his_. The elves wear their clothes like a costume. The whole thing reeks of falseness in a way that has Kravitz on high alert.

Kravitz looks at Magnus and Merle, who seem as unnerved by whatever the hell is happening here as Kravitz feels. They knew Wonderland was a trap when they walked in, but it’s like the elves aren’t even trying to _hide_ it. Kravitz is a bard and even he thinks the intro music is a bit much.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that whatever this is—whatever's going on—it's all about to get very bad, very fast.

“You made it!” the male elf says, when the platform stops spinning. “Welcome to Wonderland!”

“Hopefully you didn’t have too much trouble navigating the Wilds,” says the female elf.

In the blink of an eye, the male elf is behind Kravitz with a hand on his shoulder, although Kravitz can’t feel it. It’s suspicious as all hell. “Are you excited for your quest’s end? Whatever you seek, you’ll find it in Wonderland.”

The female elf appears behind Magnus and Magnus yelps in surprise. Annoyance flashes across her pretty face, a brief crack in the facade of this place, but it’s smoothed over with a smile almost instantly. “It’s not going to come easy though, dear. Are you prepared for that?”

“What?” Magnus glances over at Kravitz and Merle, then back at the elf. “Was that an innuendo?”

She winks. “Maybe.”

Suddenly she and the male elf are back on the platform, posing again. Kravitz wouldn’t trust these elves as far as he could throw them. They look… perfect. Flawless in a way real people aren’t.

They’re not casting shadows.

“The rules are simple,” says the male elf. “You’ll be evaluated through a ser—”

“Sorry,” Kravitz says, holding up a hand. “Hate to interrupt. I’m Kravitz.”

The elf stops, frowning down at him. “What’s that?”

“Kravitz,” Kravitz repeats, and then, because he knows they won’t introduce themselves, nods his head at his friends. “This is Magnus and Merle.”

The elves exchange a glance. “Lydia,” says the female elf, after a beat. “And Edward. Now do you _mind_?”

“No, of course,” Kravitz says, gesturing for Edward and Lydia to continue. He keeps his face straight as Magnus and Merle snicker beside him. “Good to meet you. Please, carry on.”

Edward gives Kravitz a disapproving look, then continues. “The rules are simple. You will be evaluated through a series of tests and games in order to determine the extent to which you _truly_ want your prize.”

“The tests will be rough, but they’re important,” Lydia says. “In Wonderland you can only find the things you truly desire by losing the things that hold you back. You follow the rules of the tests, you push through the pain, and you’ll leave here happy.”

“You break the rules, you try to find shortcuts, and you won’t leave here… happy.” Edward smiles, a baring of teeth that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ready to get started?”

Instead of waiting an answer, Edward and Lydia raise their arms in unison and _snap_ —disappearing. The circular platform they were standing on lowers to waist height, revealing that it’s not a platform at all. It’s a wheel—a _game_. The platform is cut into multi-coloured sections, each baring a different symbol—an eye, a body, a skull, a brain, a backpack, a hand, a clock, a question mark, and two crossed swords. It’s garish, but under all the colours and symbols, it’s familiar.

It looks like a roulette wheel.

The spotlights in the room rotate, illuminating a door on the far side of the room. Above it are three circular red lights.

Edward’s voice rings out, although he and Lydia are still nowhere to be seen. “This is the Wheel of Sacrifice. You spin it, and you give up whatever it lands on. You are, of course, free to refuse if you land on something you value too much to lose, but there will be a penalty for your reluctance.”

“After completing enough sacrifices, the door will open,” says Lydia.

“Each of you will take one turn at a time spinning, and whoever spun the wheel is the one who will have to do the sacrificing. Who wants to go first?”

It’s not even really a question.

“I’ll do it.” Magnus steps forward. “I mean, how bad can it be?” he asks, and spins.

“How many times to I have to tell you not to _jinx_ us, Magnus?” Kravitz asks, eyes locked on the wheel. Beside him, Merle snorts in amusement, but Kravitz is genuinely worried. There’s a _skull_. Whatever this game is, it’s not going to be good.

The wheel lands on the hand.

“Hand, hand, hand... How gnarly do I want to be?” Edward sounds absolutely _delighted_ by the turn of events.

“Oh not _too_ gnarly, they’re just getting started,” Lydia says, all false concern. “We don’t want to discourage them right from the beginning.”

“Okay,” says Edward. “Okay. How about this? One finger. You get to pick it. I won’t choose it for you. You won’t even have to cut it off. You just pick it and then boop!”

Magnus instantly freezes up. “Uh…”

Nausea curls in the pit of Kravitz’s stomach as he looks at the wheel with fresh eyes and a better understanding of what this game _is_. He’s a bard. He plays the _lyre_. He can’t afford to lose a finger.

“This isn’t that bad.” Edward’s obviously enjoying the hell out of Magnus’s reluctance. “You’ve got ten of them. You’re being greedy, really. And if it is too much, if you’re going to be selfish about this, you don’t have to do it. But there will be a _small_ penalty.”

Magnus hesitates and Kravitz can’t blame him. It’s a big ask. It’s a part of his _body_. “So… if I say no I’m not disqualified from moving on?”

“Oh, no. _God_ no,” says Edward. “I _want_ you to move forward.”

Which has to mean things are going to get worse.

“This is so sad,” Merle says, voice dripping with sarcasm as he holds up his wooden arm. “I feel so bad for you.”

“I chopped off your hand to save your life!” Magnus says. “I’m chopping off my finger to win a _game_.”

“A very good game!” says Edward.

Magnus grimaces and glances at the lights above the door again. “Uh, fuck. Any chance you’ll tell us what the penalty is?”

“Absolutely.” A beat. “Not.”

Magnus looks down at his hands, like he’s counting his fingers one last time, and then nods decisively. “Okay. Yeah, uh, take my left pinky. God _damn_.”

And just like that, Magnus’s finger is gone. There’s no blood or gore and Magnus _winces_ slightly, but a wince is a pretty tame reaction for the loss of a finger. One moment it’s there, and the next the pinky finger of his left glove is just… hanging, empty.

Magnus grumbles to himself, and as he does a wisp of—something escapes from his mouth. Something that looks almost like warm breath exhaled on a cold day, except the room is a comfortable temperature and the breath is dark, almost black.

There’s a faint _ding_ and one of the lights above the door goes green.

“I’ll go,” Merle says, and spins the wheel.

It lands on eye. Merle doesn’t wince. Merle doesn’t even look surprised. Which, given his track record and usual luck, is probably true.

“Aw, this is a real shame. You have such beautiful, hazel Dwarven eyes. I’ve always preferred Dwarven eyes,” Lydia says. “For this sacrifice... we’re not gonna take an _eye_ from you, don’t worry about that.”

Merle actually perks up a bit. “Close one.”

“Just some of your... let’s say, keen Dwarven vision.”

Kravitz and Magnus have relied on Merle’s _keen_ Dwarven vision more than once. They’re both human. Kravitz can cast Light, sure, but having someone who can see in the dark is useful when they’re in a tight spot and trying to be stealthy. It’s going to make life a fuckton harder on them.

“What do you say, Merle? This is a breeze.” Lydia sounds very pleased with herself.

“Could I… give up an eye?” Merle asks.

“Not yet,” Lydia says, voice sing-song sweet and laced with the promise of violence to come.

Merle sighs. “Okay. Yeah, go ahead. Take it.”

“What’s wrong?” Lydia asks. “You sound dissatisfied.”

“No, not at all,” Merle says. “I’m completely used to it. Just take it. It’s fine.”

Merle blinks and the hazel in his eyes dims to a dull grey. The second light flashes to green and then it’s Kravitz’s turn.

Kravitz stares down at the wheel. The odds are in his favour. Magnus already _got_ Hand so he probably won’t—things don’t _hit_ twice in a row like that. He spins.

He spins, and the wheel lands on hand. Of course it does. Kravitz is a _gambler_. He gives Magnus shit for jinxing them and here he is, mentally doing it to himself.

“Fuck,” he says, a little bit of black fog escapes his mouth.

Edward laughs. “You don’t sound like you’re enjoying the _game_ , Kravitz. Let’s see. It seems so _dull_ to take a finger from you after we took one from your friend.”

“We wouldn’t want to be _unfair_ though, would we?” Lydia asks.

“No, of course not,” Edward agrees. “But we do want to keep things interesting.” He pauses. “Kravitz… we won’t take a _finger_ , but we will take… some of your dexterity. Your fingers won’t be _nearly_ as nimble.”

“What a good _deal_ ,” says Lydia. “Much better than what your friend got.”

It’s not losing a finger, but in some ways it’s worse. Being _slow_ could cost them their lives. Kravitz’s music is his weapon and not being able to play properly…

“You can’t say yes,” Magnus says, voice low. “Don’t worry about it, Krav. We get it. Whatever the penalty is, it’s got to be better than this.”

Merle reaches out and squeezes his elbow. “We’d be screwed if you agreed.”

“What do you say, Kravitz?” Edward asks. “Are you turning this one down?”

Kravitz hesitates. “The penalty. Will they have to face it with me?”

“No,” says Lydia. “It will only affect you. It’s _your_ burden to bear.”

That makes the decision much easier. “Then I refuse.”

A fourth light appears over the door, beside the third. As far as possible penalties go, it’s not _great_ , but it could have been worse.

“Well, fuck,” Magnus says. “Krav, is it good luck or bad luck to wish you luck?”

“Please, _please_ stop jinxing us,” Kravitz says, and spins again.

This time, the wheel lands on skull. Which is… not ideal.

Lydia laughs. “ _Speaking_ of luck, skull’s a nasty one. Skull is... sort of like delayed gratification. Not for you. For us. All skull means is that at some point in the future, you’ll face some pretty bad luck. I’m not gonna tell you what that means, necessarily, but I will be honest—it won’t be great. What do you say, Kravitz?”

Kravitz is a gambling man. He knows the price of bad luck. Bad luck shaped his life in a way he would have thought unimaginable when he was young. Bad luck brought him _here_. Having it hanging over their heads while playing this game—any game—is not ideal.

He looks at Magnus and Merle, watching him with concern plain on their faces. They know him and how he feels about stuff like this.

But there’s everything else on the wheel to consider still, and he doesn’t want to have to spin a fourth time.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll take it.”

Aside from one of the lights flickering from red to green, nothing happens. After a moment, Edward clears his throat. “One more spin.”

Kravitz hopes this isn’t where the bad luck comes into play. He spins a third time and this time the wheel stops on eye.

“ _Really?_ ” Edward sounds exasperated. “Well—okay, I guess this is how things are going to go today. What can I ever _do_ to human eyes?”

There’s a pause filled with a silence that seems assessing. Lydia and Edward may not be visible, but Kravitz can _feel_ them watching him.

“Kravitz,” Edward says, suddenly all coy. “You seem like… quite the snappy dresser.”

“Mm,” Lydia agrees. “A little _conservative_ for my tastes, but it’s a good look.”

“So put together.” Edward’s downright smug now. One day, Kravitz is going to learn to stop dressing up for missions. He’d left his tie and jacket at home, but apparently the combination of trousers, a button up, and a vest until his coat are enough to make him stand out. “How about we take… your colour vision?”

“Oh, that’s _tragic_ ,” Lydia says, delighted. “Imagine not being able to coordinate anymore!”

Kravitz doesn’t _want_ to say yes, but it’s… in the grand scheme of things, he wears a lot of black and white anyway. He can manage this. Life without colour. That’s fine. He’ll still be able to play his music.

“I accept,” he says, and the world goes grey.

 

*

Accepting the bad luck was a _bad_ fucking call. Kravitz _knew_ what being unlucky could do, had plenty of first hand experience with it, and yet he’d said yes.

He’d said yes, and Lydia and Edward had dropped a piece of machinery the size of a washer on him.

Kravitz threw his lyre clear of the impact and casting Dimension Door _hurt_ , but it got him out from under the machine. There’s only so much comfort he can take in not being pinned and making it through this challenge with intact strings though. He’s in _rough_ shape. When he breathes he can feel something grating in his chest.

He manages to prop himself up against the machine that tried to kill him until after the fight is over. Magnus and Merle are kicking at the direbear’s corpse and it seems like a good time to try crossing the room to retrieve his lyre, but the minute Kravitz tries to take a step, he collapses to his knees, coughing like he’s trying to hack up a lung, ribs _screaming_ at him in protest.

When he rubs a hand over the back of his mouth it comes away wet.

Kravitz stares at his hand, at the slick shine of something a few shades darker than his skin, and tastes copper in his mouth. Blood. The lack of colour in his world, his light-headedness, and the pain he’s in from having a _very_ fucking heavy metal box dropped on top of him makes everything feel… unreal. The throbbing in his sides and face probably means he’s got more injuries than he realizes, but he—he blinks unsteadily at his hand as the world swims in front of his eyes, reaching down to brace himself on the floor—he just needs to stay conscious and not _die_.

“Shit. Kravitz.” Kravitz doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the floor, but Magnus at his side all of the sudden, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Merle, can you—?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Merle says, and actually casts a healing spell for once. Kravitz would make a joke about it, but the little bit of relief he feels as the spell washes over him has him gasping, sucking in a deep breath he couldn’t take a moment earlier.

Kravitz squeezes his eyes shut and sits back on his heels. Takes another breath and lets it out slowly.

When he opens his eyes, Edward and Lydia are in the room with them.

“Now, hold on just a second. What do you think you’re doing?” Edward asks, giving them a disapproving look.

“That’s cheating!” says Lydia. “You know the rules—once you sacrifice something here, you don’t get it back!”

And then Kravitz is hit by a _wall_ of pain. It slams into him full force as his injuries flood back. He curls up on himself, gasping for air, dizzy with the sudden shock of feeling _everything_ happen all over again.

“Great job!” Edward says, once whatever magic powers Wonderland cancels the effects of Merle’s spell. “Now smile and show your opponents how well you did!”

Magnus pulls Kravitz gingerly to his feet. By the time he’s upright—and hating it—Edward and Lydia are gone and one of the panels in the room is lit up with the image of two nasty looking halflings.

Edward speaks again, from wherever he’s monitoring them. “These two travellers are making great progress through Wonderland. They chose forsake when you chose trust, so you have them to thank for that extra difficult challenge you just faced!”

Maybe they agreed to try and keep things positive, but Kravitz just wants to tell the halflings to fuck right off. Magnus actually _does_ flip them off with his free hand. Kravitz is a little busy holding his chest and hoping his ribs will stop protesting every time he takes a breath to join in. The halflings raise their hands and flip Magnus off in turn.

“C’mon guys,” Magnus says, glancing at them as he waves his finger at the halflings, a wisp of smoke emerging from his mouth. “Help me out here.”

Merle gives Magnus an unimpressed look. “You’ve got that mist coming out of your mouth.”

“Shit,” says Magnus, and changes to give the halflings a thumbs up instead.

The screen flips off and there’s a laugh behind them. Not Edward and Lydia—someone else. “Wow, you guys got boned that round, huh? Why didn’t you pick forsake? Y’all need to study some game theory.”

Kravitz and Magnus exchange a glance and turn as one, towards the voice.

Well, _Magnus_ turns. Kravitz is sort of along for the ride.

“Who goes there?” Magnus asks. “Hail and well met!”

“Come here and I will reveal to you my dark secret!”

“Okay,” Kravitz says. “Magnus, this sounds like a you thing. I’m going to lean on Merle for a bit.”

Magnus snorts. “Thanks,” he says, voice dry. He’s careful of Kravitz’s injuries as he passes him off to Merle for support though. If they have to fight in the next room, they’re fucked. Kravitz is in no shape for it. He’s not convinced he’ll be able to hold his lyre, let alone play it.

Magnus creeps closer to the machinery on the other side of the room, where the voice seems to be coming from. “Getting hotter!” it says. “Almost there!”

Magnus glances back at Merle and Kravitz before crouching down and, after a bit of fuss and some weird sounds, pulls a human head out from the shadows of a jutting metal box.

A human head that seems… surprisingly with it, for someone who’s just a head. “Hey guys,” says the head. “My name’s Cam. Sorry I can’t greet you with a formal handshake. I seem to have misplaced my… everything.”

Magnus lets out a completely inappropriate bark of laughter.

Kravitz should probably be more shocked by the presence of a sentient head that tells shitty jokes, but Wonderland’s thrown a bunch of other bullshit at them. Why not this too? A sentient human head. Sure. That’s fine.

“What are you guys doing here?” Cam the head asks. “How’s your trip through Wonderland going so far?”

“Not great, Cam,” Kravitz says, before Magnus can reply. “Not as bad as yours apparently is, but _not great_.”

He spits out a mouthful of blood.

“Yeah, uh, hey—I’d love to tell you a little more about me and what I’m bringing to the table, but you wouldn’t happen to have a certain tasty, spicy treat with you, would you?” Cam asks, sniffing the air. “It smells preserved and delicious.”

“I’ve, uh, I’ve got some jerky,” Magnus says. “You want some?”

“Jerky is perfect! I can’t swallow but I can just chew on it for a long time.” Cam wiggles his eyebrows. “Just give me a little of it, come on.”

For someone who’s just a head, Cam is demanding, but he’s also obviously been here a lot longer than they have. As much as Kravitz _doesn’t_ want to see whatever happens when a disembodied head swallows, he’s also inclined to feel some sympathy for him.

Plus, it’s nice to have a break. Kravitz misses the early mission days, when he could walk away from Magnus and Merle and just take a _beat_ to recenter himself when he needed to. Merle’s the only thing keeping him standing right now, so that’s not happening, but just a _breather_ is good.

Kravitz feels like he should definitely have used some of the 90,000 gold pieces Taako forced on him after their casino date to invest in the flaming, poisoning, raging sword of doom. _He_ wouldn’t be much use with it, but Magnus would be deadly armed with something like that.

The sounds Cam makes while chewing on the jerky aren’t doing Kravitz’s aching head—aching _everything_ —any favours. When he spits the jerky out onto the ground it’s kind of a relief. “I like you guys. You seem nice,” Cam says. “What brought you to Wonderland?”

“Lookin’ for a bell.” Merle shifts and Kravitz winces when then movement echoes up the arm he’s got braced on Merle’s shoulder. “Trying not to let our bard die.”

Kravitz snorts and then winces. “Ow, but yes, thank you, Merle. I’d appreciate not dying.”

“Must be a pretty fuckin’ good bell,” Cam says, looking at each of them in turn.

Magnus shrugs. “Honestly, we know very little about the bell.”

“How long have you been here, Cam? You look…” Kravitz trails off. There’s really no polite way to say _bad_ , but it’s not like Cam doesn’t know he’s just a head.

Cam gives Kravitz a skeptical once over. “Things don’t seem to be going so great for you either,” he says. “I mean, I watched you fight. You all seem pretty vital, but—”

“Hold on!” Magnus says. “I’d say we’re collectively doing better than you are, Cam.”

“I’ve been here for a _long_ time,” Cam says. “I got screwed over. But that’s not important. So, uh, is this your first room? You did the wheel once and now you’re here?”

“We did the wheel. We did trust or forsake—”

“Yeah,” says Cam. “Yeah, see, that—you made a big mistake there.”

“Picked trust,” Merle says.

“ _Game theory_ ,” says Kravitz, emphatically. “We just—we need to pick forsake every time. I _told_ you.”

“I know,” Magnus says. “But we didn’t know it would be strangers on the other side of the game.”

Kravitz gives Magnus an unimpressed look. “I’m pretty sure my ribs are cracked, maybe broken, and I’m coughing up blood, but at least we weren’t _mean_.”

He watches as some of the strange black fog escapes his mouth and floats up to the ceiling.

“I mean, yeah,” Magnus says. “That’s not _great_ , but in our defense—”

“You guys seem like nice dudes,” Cam interjects, before Magnus and Kravitz can devolve into bickering. “I think I could help you out on making progress through Wonderland. Help you face less gnarly fights than the one you guys just got through. Does that sound good? Maybe you can scratch my back and I’ll—well, scratch the back of my hair and I’ll scratch your… whatever? With my teeth?”

Magnus makes a face. “I—yeah, sure,” he says. “I mean, that sounds gross, but I like the idea.”

“How come we can’t heal?” Merle asks, nodding his head towards Kravitz. “If the kid can’t stand on his own, playing his harp isn’t gonna work so well.”

“Lyre,” Kravitz says, automatically. It’s either that or insisting again that he and Magnus are the _same age_ and he is _not_ a kid, but Merle always looks skeptical when he points that out. Which is ridiculous. Kravitz is definitely the most mature of the three of them.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure that’s the truth.” Merle grins up at him, just like every other time he goads Kravitz into the bit.

Kravitz rolls his eyes. “Still not a good goof.”

“That would defeat the purpose of this place,” Cam says. “You understand the whole point is to make you guys suffer, right?”

Kravitz’s mood is maybe a _little_ sour now. “The thought did occur to me around the time they dropped a machine on my head.”

“Hey Cam?” Magnus is frowning. “You mentioned the first room? Is this just a cycle or is this one room and then we do something different and then the next room something different?”

“It’s kind of like a cycle,” Cam says. “Like one of those, you know, endless cycles.”

There is a long moment of silence after his pronouncement. “That can’t—that’s not right,” Kravitz says, thinking of the Director, who escaped this somehow.

“Oh no, there’s no gettin’ out of Wonderland,” Cam says. “I know you came here for a bell and that’s great and all, but you’re gonna die here. And they’re gonna make you suffer as much as possible before you do. It’s the only reason this place exists.”

“Why would people come here if that’s true?” Kravitz asks.

“They come here because whatever treasure their heart desires is supposedly waiting for them here and they think it’s worth it, but that… that hasn’t been my experience.”

Kravitz is going to have a very long talk with the Director when they get out of here about the importance of being properly _briefed_. A vague warning and months of training isn’t enough to prepare them for _this_.

“Okay,” Magnus says, taking ‘you’re going to die here’ in stride. “Then second question—this black fog that comes out of our mouths when we get angry or complain. What is it?”

“That’s the suffering, boss,” says Cam. He gives them an assessing look. “How much do you guys know about liches?”

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Kravitz says, grimacing. Suddenly everything makes much, much more sense. “Of _course_ they’re fucking liches.”

“Bingo,” says Cam. “Give the bard a prize. You met many liches before?”

“I’m a follower of the Raven Queen.” Kravitz’s mind is racing. _Two_ liches, running a suffering factory. Edward and Lydia are cruel and sadistic, but as far as liches go, they’re pretty _with it_. They have intact personalities and can project consistent images of themselves which means they’re _powerful_.

Which means the three of them really _are_ screwed.

He lets go of Merle’s shoulder, trusting Merle to keep him supported, so he can fish out his stone of farspeech from inside his shirt. “I’m calling Taako,” he says.

“Taako?”

“His boyfriend,” Magnus tells Cam.

“Taako’s a reaper for the Raven Queen,” Kravitz says, as he pulls out the stone. “Liches are kind of his _thing_.”

“You, uh, you don’t really think that stone is going to work here, do you?” Cam asks. “That’s kind of captivity 101—stop people from calling for help.”

Kravitz’s stone is, in fact, dead in his hand. He shakes it, trying to start it up so he can dial Taako’s frequency, but Cam’s right—it doesn’t even have a faint spark of life left in it.

He curls his fingers around the stone and tries to tamp down on the spike of panic being this cut off from everything sends through him. Kravitz can’t stand being trapped. “Fuck.”

Cam snorts. “Yeah,” he says. “Welcome to Wonderland.”

 

*

Intellectually, Kravitz knows it’s fucked up that sacrificing some of his life force didn’t seem like a big deal, but Merle’s down an _eye_ and several items. Magnus lost ten years of his life. Kravitz can deal with not being as _vital_.

Harder to deal with is the way that Rowan looked at them, or the image of Artemis Sterling—Artemis Sterling who Kravitz remembers as a bratty teenager from the parties he worked in Neverwinter—wailing with his head in Antonia’s lap. Harder to deal with is the _guilt_ he feels for choosing forsake, even though he knows intellectually that it was the right choice—that he couldn’t have handled another challenge like the first one.

“You all seem pretty down in the dumps,” Lydia says, smirking at them. “How would you like a bonus round?”

“I’m good,” Magnus says.

Merle laughs. “I’d like that about as much as a poke in the eye.”

“The bonus round is how I ended getting trapped here in the first place,” Cam says. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Really, Cam? Would you not?” Kravitz is _done_ with this place. “I mean, an extra round in Wonderland? What could _possibly_ go wrong?”

Edward hums, looking them over. “It’s kind of… not an _optional_ bonus round.”

Kravitz is done with these liches too. He gives them an unimpressed look. “Yes, Edward. That was also obvious.”

“Yep. We figured,” says Magnus, and the door on the other side of the room opens.

They pick their way out through a sea of mannequins into a large circular room the same size as every other room they’ve been in so far. This one contains three platforms, each with a glowing sign—Escape Game, Healing Game, Recovery Game—floating above it, flashing in shades of grey.

It’s probably bright, when you can see color. Probably garish. At least the lack of colour in his world means Kravitz’s headache can’t be made worse by the clashing neon extravaganza that is Wonderland.

“Oh, wait a moment!” Lydia says. “One of you has already played the escape game.”

The pedestal dissolves into black smoke, wafting back up to the ceiling.

“For the bonus round, you get to _decide_ what game you want to play,” Edward says. “Both are terrific little diversions.”

This is all just… great. “What happened when you played the Escape Game?” Kravitz asks, looking down at Cam. It had seemed like a appealing option until it disappeared.

“I lost.” Cam’s voice is grim. “That’s why I’m here and… a head.”

“Wait,” Magnus says, frowning. “How do you _lose_ a bonus round? A bonus round should just be winning.”

“Well, it was a bonus round for the person who won,” Cam says, giving them all a look that speaks volumes about his feelings on Wonderland’s definition of _bonus_. “I was hired to guide someone in here, and we weren’t doin’ very well. We made it through a couple rounds and then we played the Escape Game. They made us an offer where if one of us betrayed the other, we’d get free, but we’d leave the other person stuck in Wonderland to suffer eternally. I told her it was a trap. I told her anybody who left this place alone wouldn’t survive ten minutes in the Felicity Wilds. But she took the offer and, well, here I am.”

Magnus and Kravitz exchange a glance. “This woman,” Kravitz says. “Her name wouldn’t happen to be Lucretia, would it?”

Cam frowns. “You know Lucretia? Is she the reason you’re stuck here now too?”

Kravitz really hopes _stuck_ is an exaggeration.

“She sent us… to save you?” Magnus says, after a beat, because that’s the sort of thing Magnus does. “Rescue mission. You know.”

Cam stares at Magnus, speechless, and then blinks rapidly as his eyes well up with tears. “Maybe—maybe I was wrong about her. I… I don’t know that I can escape anymore. I’m pretty sure it’s this place that’s keeping me alive, but that means a lot. Thanks guys.”

Edward clears his throat.

Merle claps his hands together. “Okay, look, we’re not gonna escape, but I say we go for heal, right? The stuff we’ve given up, we gave up of our own free will—more or less—so… heal. It’s not gonna happen any other way.”

“Hold on,” Magnus says. “Cam makes it sound like only one of us will get to heal and the others will lose. Like maybe one of us gets healed, but the others lose health in return. I mean… that’s kind of how Wonderland’s been going so far. Right?”

“Maybe!” says Edward.

Merle jerks a thumb in Kravitz’s direction. “Pretty sure Kravitz doesn’t have another fight left in him unless we heal him somehow,” he says. “I wouldn’t call myself a professional, but coughing up blood doesn’t seem like a good sign.”

“You’re a cleric,” Kravitz says. “Please don’t joke about not knowing that coughing up blood is bad.”

Magnus looks at Kravitz. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, you’re right. Heal sounds good. Come on, Krav. I’ll give you a hand up onto the platform.”

Kravitz is kind of embarrassed that he needs it, but he does. He gets up onto the platform and a light ripples through the room, bright and momentarily blinding. When it clears, there’s a pedestal in front of each of them. Each has two buttons emblazoned with their names.

“We know some of you are faring worse than others, so we thought we’d give you the chance to balance out some of your current states of physical well-being,” Lydia says. “In the Healing Game, we’ll allow you to transfer some of your vitality to a friend. But, in doing so, you will experience a bit of... energy degradation during the transfer. They’ll only receive _half_ the vitality that you send in their direction.”

Kravitz isn’t— _really_ isn’t—a healer, but he knows about the undead and this whole game sounds like it’s rigged to take as much life force from people as possible. Of _course_ it is. “Don’t give me too much.”

Merle gives him an assessing look. “You need help,” he says, then taps and _holds_ his button—like he’s trying to prove a point about his healing abilities or something. Kravitz _would_ protest except suddenly he can breath properly and the ability to sing his way out of a bad situation in a pinch is always useful, for a bard.

He revels in being able to breathe again. “God, that feels better.”

Magnus chews on his bottom lip, then taps his button—briefly. “I, uh, sorry,” he says. “I just figure—I mean, I’m the one who takes the big hits. I’ve got to conserve my health a bit.”

“Thanks, Magnus,” Kravitz says, mouth twitching into half a smile. He’s still got a headache, but now that he’s not just in constant pain, he’s feeling well enough to give Magnus shit. “Thank you for healing my skinned knee. I deeply, truly appreciate the effort.”

“You’re welcome, buddy.” Magnus grins at Kravitz, but his eyes flicker to the side of the room. Whatever Kravitz casting True Sight during the last challenge did, Magnus is obviously picking up on something going on behind the scenes. Something, Kravitz assumes, the liches are doing to them. Something bad. “Least I could do. Enough to revitalize you, right? I know you’re fragile.”

“You’re an asshole.” Black fog comes out of his mouth, but Kravitz is smiling as he says it.

A door materializes in the back of the room, leading to the next chamber—back to the wheel.

“You’re just mad you got blood on your suit again.” Magnus hops down off the platform towards the door. “Come on, one more spin—this is easy.”

Kravitz _really_ wishes Magnus would stop jinxing them.

*

The wheel lands on hand. Of course it does.

The wheel lands on hand, and Edward and Lydia _laugh_. Magnus and Merle both turned down their last spins—nothing about this round with the wheel of sacrifice is _easy_ so far. They have six lights above the door already, but whatever the sacrifice is here, Kravitz already knows he’ll have to turn it down.

“You’ve gotten this once before, but _this_ time circumstances are a little more… _dire_. If you accept this sacrifice then we’ll take… your hand.” Edward smiles at Kravitz and spreads his own hands, palms up, like he’s showing off. “Just one. It won’t even be gruesome. Nothing so _gauche_ as that. It’ll just… be gone.”

“Krav, we know you can’t take it,” Magnus says, squeezing his shoulder.

Kravitz’s hands aren’t a fight that saved the world or the memory of his child’s birth. They’re just _hands_. But still. Nothing has changed since his first spin on the wheel. He’s a bard. He plays a string instrument. He’d be _useless_ if he accepted the sacrifice.

He curls his hands into fists at his sides, voice as steady as he can make it. “I’ll take the penalty.”

“ _Another_ chance to spin the wheel. Lucky you.” Edward is practically purring with contentment, eyes locked on them as a seventh light appears over the door.

“This game is rigged,” Merle says, glaring at the liches. “You knew he wouldn’t take that one.”

“Where would be the fun in _knowing_ what the wheel was going to land on?” Lydia smiles. “We like the mystery.”

Magnus squeezes Kravitz’s shoulder once more, then lets go. “All right. It’s my turn to—”

Kravitz spins again before Magnus gets the chance. “You and Merle healed me, Magnus. Let me _do_ this.”

“Kravitz, you can’t take a _hit_ like I can,” Magnus says, frowning.

“That was mostly me anyway,” says Merle. “Let the big guy have a turn.”

“Oh, _this_ is interesting.” Edward sounds far too delighted. Kravitz looks up, expecting the wheel to have landed on hand a third time, but instead it’s—eye.

Of course.

“ _Human_ eyes aren’t nearly as good as Dwarven eyes,” Lydia says, tapping a manicured fingernail against her chin. “Although with that face you really _could_ pull off an eyepatch, couldn’t you?”

Kravitz does his best not to flinch. His colour vision was better than his dexterity. An eye is better than a hand.

“Still, you boys are going to be here a long time, with all these spins still waiting. We wouldn’t want to have all our fun right away, would we?” Lydia smirks at Kravitz, horrible and vicious, some of her shiney veneer slipping away. “Let’s say… your _vision_ in one eye for now.”

“It’s very generous, really,” Edward says. “A better deal than your friend got.”

Kravitz has caught on to the rhythm of Wonderland well enough to know that Edward and Lydia are trying to sow discord between them, but Merle reaches up, pats his hip. “Don’t need you stealing my style anyway,” he says. “I’m the only one who gets a cool eyepatch around here.”

Kravitz gives Merle a faint smile and looks up at Edward and Lydia. “I accept,” he says, and his world _shifts_. It’s disorienting, even more so losing than suddenly becoming colour blind was, which—yes. Of course it is. He’s just lost an eye. He’s just cut his field of vision in half. Made himself more vulnerable, more helpless, and when he looks down at the lyre in his hands even that seems _off_ because his depth perception is gone.

It’s a good thing he plays by feel anyway.

He has to turn his head fully to the side to see Magnus on his left, who suppresses a grimace as he squeezes Kravitz’s shoulder. Lydia and Edward made no promises about what his eye would look like after the vision loss.

“It’s my turn,” Magnus says. “Kravitz, step back. You’ve taken your sacrifice. Let me take the hit.”

And Magnus does. Magnus steps up and he spins body and loses vitality. He spins skull and gains bad luck. Magnus steps up to the wheel and he spins _mind_.

“Magnus.” Edward practically _oozes_ pleasure as he leans forward. “You have someone that you... _loved_ once, right? And they were taken from you by someone who you now hate. I wonder which one would be worse to take: the person that you loved or the person you hate.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause. “I think we’ll go with… the latter. If you accept this sacrifice, you’ll forget Governor Kalen. You won’t be able to track him down. You’ll remember what he did to you, but you will not remember who did it.”

Kravitz reaches out to touch Magnus’s elbow. “You don’t have to do this,” he says, voice low. “You can refuse, but… forgetting someone who hurt you—someone you _hate_. That’s a blessing, in a way.”

Magnus lets out a laugh Kravitz knows he doesn’t mean. “Right?”

“It’s… closure.” Kravitz doesn’t know if he believes what he’s saying, but he’s always been good at sweet talking people. He can make this sacrifice easier on Magnus. “Whoever this person is, that you loved… I’m sure that’s what they’d want. For you to live your life.”

“Yeah, just live your life, Magnus,” Merle says. “You can get on with it. Don’t focus on what some shithead did to you.”

Magnus is going to take the sacrifice. Kravitz can tell looking at him, at the set of his shoulders and the resolve in his expression.

“Wait,” Kravitz says. “Wait, so those are the terms?”

Edward nods. “Yep!”

“Magnus, tell me what happened. I’ll—”

Edward interrupts him with a laugh. “I’m sorry. I see what you’re doing here. We’ve been running Wonderland for long enough. He won’t be able to remember no matter what we took from him. You won’t be able to remind him. If you could, that would be a shitty sacrifice, don’t you think?”

Merle glares at Edward, leaning closer to Kravitz and Magnus. “I hate these liches.”

Kravitz understands the sentiment _entirely_.

“You know what?” says Magnus. “Here’s what I’ll say. Merle, Krav—don’t try to remind me of it. But if in your journeys, you ever meet a slimy asshole named Governor Kalen, kill him on sight.

“Don’t talk to him. Don’t let him talk to you. Kill him. And tell him it’s for Julia. That’s the one thing I want you to say to his face before you kill him. ‘This is for Julia,’ then you end him then and there. Understood?”

It’s not the way Kravitz would usually do things, but in this case? For Magnus? “Of course.”

Merle’s lips quirk into a smile. “Listen, even when we’re not trying, we kill most of the people we come into contact with anyway.”

Kravitz snorts. “I hate that you’re right, but yeah. Statistically speaking, we’ve as good as kept our promise already, Magnus.”

“All right,” Magnus says. “Accepted.”

Kravitz watches as the number of lights above the wheel goes down to three.

“Okay,” Merle says. “Let me—”

Kravitz reaches out and spins before Merle can. He’s taller. He’s got the reach. In the face of Merle’s frown, he just shrugs. “You healed me.”

The wheel lands on Backpack and Lydia coos. “Something new! How exciting for you!”

“I bet you’ve been curious about this one,” Edwards says. “Backpack means you’ll have to sacrifice some of your _heavy load_. Now let’s see… As a bard you don’t _have_ a lot of toys. Not like your friends.” Edward’s eyes go to Magnus and Railsplitter strapped to his back. “Shame.”

“But you _do_ have belongings which are… precious to you,” Lydia says. “I think we should take… your _lyre_. Not your _skills_. You’ll still be able to play just fine. Just… the instrument itself.”

“That’s practically a _bargain_. Your friends are going to start to think we’re going easy on you if you’re not careful.” Edward winks at him.

Kravitz could risk it. His lyre is his main weapon, but he’s still got his voice and if sacrificing the instrument itself would leave his skill at playing it intact, then maybe, _maybe_ it’s worth it. Singing is what he falls back on when he needs to—singing is fast. Reactionary. He doesn’t have to worry about strings breaking, even if it’s not as effective as playing the lyre, even if his magic won’t be as strong.

He could take this, or he could spin again and hope for something that doesn’t involve giving up his one real weapon. He’s never had children or been married. He could lose memories to mind and still be useful in a fight. He’d rather _not_ lose years off his life, but Magnus looks good, ten years older. Kravitz could accept that sacrifice. Even if it was _more_ than ten, he’s young enough to handle it, and he’s a bard, not a fighter. He’s not around to be physically imposing anyway.

He’d still have his lyre.

“Pass,” he says, and a fourth light appears above the wheel.

“Kravitz, I’m spinning,” Merle says, voice unusually firm, stern.

Kravitz has to resist the urge to go again as he steps back. “I’m sorry,” he says, because Merle’s sacrificed so much already. “I didn’t—”

“Kid, we don’t want you to give up your lyre either,” Merle says. “But it’s my turn.”

Magnus touches Kravitz’s shoulder and he jumps a little, twisting to look at him and the apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry,” Magnus says. “I forgot you couldn’t—you know, see. But Merle’s right. It’s okay. We get it.”

It’s not okay. Kravitz is the reason they have more turns to take. He’s the one dragging this out. It’s not okay because Magnus doesn’t remember _how much_ he’s sacrificed.

Merle spins clock.

Lydia and Edward exchange a look.

“Huh,” Lydia says. “How do Dwarven ages even _work_?”

“Normally with the long-lived races… I mean, we’d just take something that deteriorates with age—your physical beauty—but with _you_ …”

Merle glares up at the liches. “You know, I’m a real looker. You get another Dwarf in here and they’ll tell you.”

Edward hums doubtfully.

“Well, this is hardly _any_ fun,” says Lydia. “Merle, what do you say to… thirty years?”

Kravitz, who is only just _past_ thirty years old, can’t imagine saying yes to that.

Merle doesn’t even hesitate. “Deal,” he says, and spins again as one of the lights above the wheel flickers out.

It lands on swords but Lydia and Edward are still pouting over Merle getting clock. “You can’t even _tell_ ,” says Lydia. “Maybe a few more wrinkles, but—”

“—that’s hardly anything,” Edward agrees. “Barely a sacrifice.” He looks at the wheel and then sighs. “The problem with swords for you, Merle, is that you’re just not a very—”

Merle laughs. “You saying I haven’t won any fights?”

“Yeah, you’re not a very combative person. Hm.”

Merle snorts at that, looks back at Kravitz and Magnus. “Boys, who killed the big hairy spider on our first adventure?”

“Now really doesn’t seem like the time, Merle,” Magnus says.

Edward waves a dismissive hand. “I’ll change this because I don’t know that you have any big, glorious battles in your future that I can take from you—”

“Bite me!” Merle says, and a wisp of black fog comes out of his mouth.

“ _Instead_ ,” Edward says, giving Merle an annoyed look. “How about this? In your next battle here in Wonderland, you’re going to be a real dunce.”

Magnus and Kravitz both snort.

“Thanks for the support, fellas,” Merle says, letting out more of the fog. “I accept, you pricks.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on Edward’s face as another light flickers out—two left, and with Magnus’s bad luck looming over their heads and Merle agreeing to fight poorly in their next Wonderland battle, Kravitz doesn’t like the way the odds are stacking up against them.

He grabs Merle’s shoulder. “It’s my turn,” he says. “Don’t you dare spin again.”

Merle rolls his—eye—and Kravitz steps forward, trying not to think about how that’s him now too—one good eye, even if he doesn’t have an empty socket where the other used to be, like Merle.

He spins, and the wheel lands on chance.

“Oh, you know _this_ one,” Lydia says. “All you have to do is make sacrifice on par with the other things that have been sacrificed this round. You’re a gambler, Kravitz, isn’t that right? So, spin again or take a chance?”

Edward said it, when Kravitz spun backpack. He doesn’t have a lot of items, and even if he did, anything he gave up wouldn’t be equal to Magnus’s memories.

Truthfully, _nothing_ he’s got to give could possibly match Magnus’s sacrifice. He hasn’t lived the life that Magnus has. Magnus is the sort of man men like Kravitz write songs about. Magnus was a hero before the Bureau. Kravitz’s may not know Magnus’s full story, but he knows that much. Kravitz, on the other hand, doesn’t come by any of this naturally. This adventure thing. This _hero_ thing. He’s only here because of self-inflicted ruin.

But Edward and Lydia… well, they’re liches. They don’t understand love and sacrifice. Not anymore. They know how to inflict pain, sure, but how to _weigh_ it? How to _really_ tell when things are equal? Maybe they’ve learned how humanity works again, over time, through their games, but this existence—based on suffering—proves that any empathy is preformative.

This game is exactly what Edward and Lydia say it is. It’s the opportunity for Kravitz to take a chance, to bet against the house. He needs to bet that he can put down something that’s enough to satisfy Edward and Lydia while also not endangering his friends too much.

Kravitz slips the ring of frost off his finger and lays it down. He unstraps the short sword he never uses and sets it beside the ring. He pulls out the hole thrower and adds it to the pile. He looks up at Lydia and Edward.

“Is that all?” Lydia asks, obviously delighted. “ _Well_ , if that’s what you’re offering—”

“I’m not done.” They can’t take another round of this. He’ll have his lyre and he’ll have his hands. He needs to make a sacrifice that pretends to be as big as Magnus’s. He can do this. “I’m a bard,” he says. “I don’t have many items to offer you because I don’t use them the same way fighters do. I play my lyre and I sing.”

He hesitates, but only briefly. If he can play, he can fight. If he can fight, they can get the Animus Bell and get the hell out of here.

Kravitz gestures to his throat. “Take my voice.”

He hears Magnus inhale sharply beside him, shocked. “Krav, don’t—”

“Kid,” Merle says. “That’s too much.”

Kravitz isn’t going to disagree with Merle. Not now. All evidence to the contrary, he knows how to bluff. Keeping his poker face intact for this is easy, because this is a _hard_ thing for him to offer. Hard, but not too much. Not weighing what Magnus gave up for them. If anything, in comparison, it’s not _enough_.

Kravitz doesn’t allow himself to think about the sacrifice too deeply. If he does, he’ll remember singing with his grandmother at her piano. He’ll remember busking on the streets as a teenager, delighted when people tossed him a few coins. He’ll remember performing at glittering parties for Neverwinter’s elite.

He’ll remember sitting on the quad, while Taako laughed and tried to shut him up, serenading his way to their first kiss.

Kravitz is hurt and one eye down and the world is black and white. He just wants to get out of here and go back to their apartment on the moon. He wants to hand over the Animus Bell, the sixth and final relic, and sleep for a month.

He wants the game to be over.

“My voice,” he repeats, “and these items. That’s my offer.”

Edward and Lydia exchange a glance. It’s not enough—Kravitz _knows_ it’s not—but they smile.

“We’ll take that charming songbird voice of yours,” Edward says.

“You’ll still be able to speak,” says Lydia. “It just won’t sound as… sweet.”

“Mm, it’ll be downright unpleasant,” Edward says, and snaps his fingers.

The items Kravitz offered melt away. There’s a flash in his mind of learning the basics of short sword, learning how to depend himself physically as a last resort, but it’s there and gone, leaving him with nothing but the knowledge that he _used to_ be passable with a sword.

There’s a moment, too, where his throat _burns_ , and then it’s—not normal, not like before, but the burn is gone and the dry, rough feeling it leaves behind is probably something he’s going to have to get used to.

“I’m going to touch your shoulder,” Magnus says, and then does, squeezing gently. “Krav, are you—”

“I’m fine,” Kravitz says. He doesn’t _sound_ fine at all. He sounds soft and scratchy, ever so slightly froggy. He sounds… like he lost his voice. It’s not as unpleasant as he thought it might be, but it’s a far cry from the way he used to sound.

This is not _his_ voice, not even close—and it’s definitely not the voice of a professional singer.

Magnus and Merle are silent in response to his pronouncement. Edward and Lydia are not.

“Ouch,” Edward says. “I can’t even _imagine_.”

“It’s so sad,” Lydia agrees. “His voice was like a song.”

Kravitz spins again before he can to think too hard about what he just gave up and how it’ll change things. He spins before Merle or Magnus can beat him to it and they both cry out and protest.

“Kravitz, _fuck_ —”

“You don’t have anything to prove to us,” Merle says, soft and serious. “I meant it earlier. This game is rigged so _everyone_ loses.”

Kravitz glances at Merle and smiles. “I’m the one who kept saying no,” he says, in his strange new voice. “This is my penalty to take.”

The wheel, as he speaks, lands on body.

“We’ve done this _twice_ now.” Edward pouts, giving Kravitz a skeptical once over. “And you’re looking _awfully_ low on vitality. Not much to give at all.”

“Why don’t we change it up a little?” Lydia asks, clapping her hands together. “You landed on body. We already know what you’ll do to keep your hands, but what about your _leg_?” She sizes Kravitz up. “Not _all_ of it.”

“Not yet,” says Edward.

Lydia nods, like this is a perfect reasonable addition. “Just… below the knee. That’s barely anything at all. What do you say?”

“Don’t,” Magnus says. “Kravitz, I’ll take two penalties. I’m fine.”

“Hell, I’ll take one of them.” Merle grabs Kravitz’s wrist. “Be smart about this. We need you mobile. We’re going to have to fight our way out of here.”

It’s true, they are. They’ll have to fight, but Kravitz is a bard. If he can be a bard without his voice, he can sure as hell be one missing half a leg. They can prop him up against something for the next challenge. He’ll just need some help getting there. “Magnus, are you feeling strong?”

“Yeah,” Magnus says. “I’ve got this, Kravitz. I mean it. Don’t worry about—”

“I accept.”

One moment Kravitz is standing on two feet, the next half his left leg is just _gone,_ and he’s lurching to the left—trying to stumble and only tripping himself up more when his leg isn’t there to support him. The arm not holding his lyre reels for something to grab, for Merle, and then Magnus catches him and hauls him upright.

“You _idiot_ ,” Magnus says. He sounds tearful, which Kravitz feels bad about. He can’t see it though. His left side is _overwhelmingly_ his bad side now. “It’s my job to _protect_ you, Krav. I can’t—I need to look out for you both. That’s what I _do_.”

“Sometimes you need someone looking out for you too,” Kravitz says. “It’s okay. Look at Merle. He’s fine. I will be too.”

Merle snorts. “Sure. Magnus _chopped_ my damn _arm_ off, but I manage.”

Magnus’s response is pretty much instinctual now. “I _saved_ your damn _life_.”

Kravitz laughs and it’s an awful, breathy sound that makes him wince, but he still manages to force a smile for Merle. “See? Everything is going to be okay.”

 

*

Everything is not okay. Everything is not okay and Magnus isn’t in his body anymore and Kravitz doesn’t know if he’s possessed or _gone_ or what’s happening. They barely got out of the boss rush intact and now—now Kravitz doesn’t know how to help his friends. Levitate is keeping him semi-mobile, but it’s not a real solution to his problem.

Kravitz is hurt and he can’t dodge and Merle is channeling his magic beside him—his uncertain, increasingly sporadic magic—and he’s _reaching_ for Magnus, doing something Kravitz doesn’t quite understand to try and retrieve his soul.

Kravitz fingers move over the strings of his lyre, playing fast and furious, channeling hold person on Edward-as-Magnus and Lydia on the other end of the runway.

He can feel them resisting the spell, can feel them close to throwing it off. He only has so many spell slots to burn, but he needs to keep them _back_ , just for a little longer. Just until Merle’s back. Until _Magnus_ is back too, he hopes. He doesn’t know how they’ll get Edward out of Magnus’s body, but it’s not a question in Kravitz’s mind that they need to try—that they need to _succeed_.

Something changes. Merle shifts beside Kravitz and a mannequin in the crowd steps forward, climbs onto the runway with them, dressed in elven armour, holding itself in a way that is strangely familiar.

“I’ll be having my body back, you undead fucks,” the mannequin— _Magnus_ —says.

Kravitz’s playing falters and Edward and Lydia burst into laughter, horrible and taunting and then, before any of them can react, the black smog around them—the _suffering_ these liches have been siphoning from their victims for centuries—shifts, transforming into a steel beam that tilts and falls towards them.

Kravitz _can’t dodge_. Kravitz is a sitting duck.

His shuts his eyes reflexively and there’s a loud crash, but he’s still—there. Still standing. When he opens them, there are two large humanoid statues made of smog, holding the beam above their heads.

And, on the far right side of the room, is another lich. Kravitz _assumes_ it’s the Red Robed lich, but right now it’s hard to tell. The lich’s hand is stretched towards the statues, straining, and then all the smog melts back into the thick black cloud above them.

“Listen,” Magnus says, his wooden head still turned in the direction of the liches. “Krav, Merle, I know this is a little weird, but you’re just gonna have to trust me on this one. He’s with us. I think. More or less.”

The lich flashes them a thumbs up.

The _lich_.

Kravitz gives Magnus’s back a skeptical look. “He’s one of them.”

“Kravitz, _trust_ me,” Magnus says. “Please.”

Every instinct in Kravitz’s body is screaming at him not to side with a lich, not to give a creature that tore out its own soul the benefit of the doubt, but he _does_ trust Magnus. He trusts Magnus and Merle to have his back. He trusts them to watch his bad left side, where he’s now profoundly vulnerable. He trusts them with his life.

“I do,” he says, and glances at the lich again. “Okay.”

Edward laughs and it sounds wrong. Not the way _Kravitz’s_ voice sounds wrong—physically, Magnus is the same. The wrongness is in the malice behind the laugh, in the glint of hatred and hunger in his eyes, even in the way Edward-as-Magnus holds himself.

It’s wrong, and they’ve got to get Magnus’s body _back_. “Well,” Edward says. “This fight just got a lot more interesting.”

Lydia echoes his laugh and then she floats up in the air and casts a spell on Edward and some of the wounds Magnus is sporting heal themselves, which—fuck.

“ _Wait_ a minute,” Merle says. “I thought healing didn’t work here.”

“Oh, that’s a one-way street dear,” Lydia says, smirking down at them.

Of course it is.

Magnus does something with the mannequins and they start cheering—Kravitz really hates the whole animated mannequin thing, reminds him of thralls and the undead—and then Magnus launches his rickety wooden body at Edward.

He’s shrugged off like he’s, well, a rickety wooden mannequin.

Edward grins, a twisted, vicious expression completely out of place on Magnus’s face, and draws Railsplitter. “Let’s see what this baby can do.”

Edward brings the axe down on Magnus, sending him stumbling back, and then he’s on Merle, slamming the axe into him next, and Merle goes _down_ —hard—and he doesn’t get up again.

Kravitz knows Magnus is there, technically, and apparently they’ve got a lich on their side, but right now he can barely move himself around. He’s the last one standing with his soul in his body. Kravitz isn’t alone, but he _feels_ like he is.

What they need is some backup, and Cam bailed on providing that.

Kravitz looks at the mannequins and comes up with a plan. His fingers move over the strings on his lyre. Kravitz focuses on channeling his magic, on casting it out over as many of the mannequins as he can. He _feels_ Lydia fighting him, feels her trying to stop him from taking control from her, but this wasn’t a move she prepared for. He can tell she’s grasping at straws to try to keep his magic from settling in place.

And then it does, and Kravitz can’t help grinning.

“They’re mine now,” he says, looking right at Lydia, and all five of the mannequins he has control over launch themselves at Edward.

Kravitz keeps his fingers moving as they attack, three of them managing to whack their wooden arms against Edward while he deals with the other two. He doesn’t know how much healing Lydia did, but if they can knock Edward out, maybe they can figure out a way to get Magnus back in his body.

A wrecking ball swings out of the smog, towards him, but before it hits a second ball forms and smashes into it, sending it reeling off course. They both fade away and Lydia snarls, pointing at Magnus. A bolt of black energy shoots out of her finger and slams into him.

Magnus stumbles, but recovers fast, jumping onto Edward with the rest of the mannequins. Going for a weapon, maybe? Kravitz isn’t sure _what_ his plan is, is focused on staving off Lydia’s attempts to wrench back control of the mannequins from him, but Magnus doesn’t have many options right now. Kravitz gives him the benefit of the doubt that he’s got a plan.

And then everything metal goes _flying_ away from Edward-in-Magnus’s body—Railsplitter, Chance Land, the Shield of Heroic Memories, _everything_ —and Magnus’s plan becomes clear.

Merle’s glasses fly off his unconscious face. Kravitz’s lyre, with its metal tuning pegs, jerks in his hands and knocks him off balance.

Kravitz curls himself around his instrument as he falls, mentally cancelling the spell on his leg before it makes things worse. His body is screaming at him that it’s _tired_ , that he needs to take a break—he ignores it. He ignores the bruises and cuts he’s covered in, ignores the taste of fresh blood in his mouth. He forces himself upright, into a seated position, and glares across the runway at mannequin Magnus.

“Sorry, buddy!” Magnus calls, over his wooden shoulder, as Chance Lance flies to his outstretched hand. “Wasn’t thinking!”

“Magnus, eyes on the—” Before Kravitz can finish his sentence, Edward lunges forward and grabs one of Magnus’s arms, ripping it off.

In a way, it’s poetic. Kravitz would appreciate it more if he wasn’t trying to make sure he and his friends survive Wonderland.

The mannequins launch themselves at Edward again, taking him by surprise this time, and it gives Kravitz the moment he needs to think of a plan. A bad one, but a plan.

It hurts, to raise his voice above the sound of the attack, but Kravitz does. “Magnus, your body—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Magnus says, voice clipped. “I’m here, not there. Whatever you’re thinking, do it.”

Kravitz’s gaze turns to Lydia and he starts playing, plucking strings slowly at first, and then faster as he builds momentum, the song dissonant and hypnotic. He wraps the spell around her tight, like a noose.

There’s magic Kravitz knows that he doesn’t like to use. Things he can do to people if he has no other option, if he’s backed into a corner.

Casting a Geas on someone? That’s a last resort.

When Lydia realizes what he’s doing, she cries out in anger, eyes blazing, and she _fights_ —Kravitz feels her trying to wrench free and he plays faster, leaning into the spell, focusing everything he’s got on it, on binding her to him, on making her _bend_ —and then she’s _his_.

He bets it’s very frustrating, ripping out your soul for more power, only to find yourself under the power of a slightly better than average bard.

“Your brother,” Kravitz says, raspy voice firm, despite barely carrying over the din in the room. “Destroy him.”

Lydia twitches back, away from him, but Kravitz keeps his fingers moving, doesn’t waver, pouring the fury and frustration and _suffering_ of the day into the song, taking all the rage Lydia feels and shaping it under his fingers, twisting it to suit his chosen target.

Lydia launches herself at Magnus’s body, a spell flying from her outstretched hand. It slams into Edward-as-Magnus’s back just as he frees himself from under the mannequins and he goes flying. Magnus’s body skids across the runway, and then Edward’s lich form raises from it, twisting to face his sister.

“Lydia,” he says. “Don’t let some _bard_ —”

Lydia doesn’t let him finish. She does exactly what Kravitz ordered her to do—she tears him apart. Powerful magic, thick and dark, comes pouring off of her in inky tendrils, stabbing into her brother’s form.

Lydia gestures sharply to the left as Edward tries to fight his way free, as he struggles to get out of her grasp, and he’s torn in two—ripped apart by his sister’s magic.

What’s left of him disintegrates into ash, floating down onto the runway.

Kravitz stops playing, and Lydia _screams._

Lydia screams and jerks to the side, her form losing its shape. Bolts of crackling energy encircle her and everywhere they touch she seems to come apart a little more. Lydia and Edward said they were sustained by negative emotions, but they were sustained _together_. The choice to become liches was one they made as a team. Tearing their souls out had been a _group_ effort.

Lydia is unravelling at the seams.

She drops to the runway, scooping Edward’s ashes up in her hands, and laughs, bitter and wretched. “I guess… we still needed each other after all,” she says. She looks up at Kravitz and screams again, _furious_ , and explodes in a flash of darkness.

There’s a deafening roar as Lydia’s wrath, her death knell, engulfs the room in dark magic.

Kravitz sees the brunt of the explosion barrelling towards him, almost in slow motion, and brings his arms up to cover his face even though he knows it’ll be useless. He squeezes his eyes shut, and the storm-like energy just billows around him, leaving him untouched.

When he opens his eyes, the Red Robe is in front of him and there’s a shield around them both, keeping Lydia’s magic at bay.

It’s over a moment later and the lich drops the shield spell. It doesn’t turn to Kravitz. Its gaze is locked on the far end of the runway. “Oh my god.”

Kravitz looks too, and inhales sharply because there’s—where Magnus’s body should be, there’s nothing. Not even ash. It’s just—gone.

“Fuck,” says Magnus, the mannequin, and walks into Kravitz’s line of sight. He’s only got one arm and there’s no body to try and put him back in, but—but his soul is here so maybe…

“Merle,” Kravitz says, and tries to get up. He’s abruptly reminded of why he’s on the floor in the first place when he attempts to put down a foot that isn’t there anymore. Which is—it’s a change he’ll think through later. Right now, he doesn’t have time to think about it or his black and white world or his blind eye or his croaky voice.

“Shit,” says Magnus, and drops Chance Lance so he can rush to Merle’s side. “Shit. Krav, can you—”

“I don’t have the slots,” he says. “I can’t…” Kravitz glances at the lich because maybe _it_ has healing magic, but the lich just shakes its head.

Cam’s floating head appears in the air above Merle’s body and he looks around the empty, ash filled room. “You did it,” he says. “I can’t believe…” He trails off and looks at Magnus, then Kravitz. “I, uh, I thought of something heroic to do.”

Cam turns to the lich. “Hey, Crimson Wonder. Were you the one that cooked up that door earlier? I got an order for you. Can you make me up a Healing Game?”

The lich hesitates. “You sure?”

“Conjure it up,” Cam says, voice firm.

The smog in the room is starting to dissipate, without Edward and Lydia to sustain the construct of Wonderland, but the lich raises a pedestal out from the floor in a column of black smoke.

“Well,” says Cam, as a Mage Hand appears in front of him, hovering over the button. “See you.”

The hand slaps down on the button on the pedestal and a beam of bright light shoots up from the floor, consuming it and Cam entirely.

Merle sputters into consciousness, looking around the ash-filled, ruined room, at Magnus in his mannequin body, at Kravitz on the ground, and the lich floating above them. “Shit,” he says. “What the hell happened?”

“We won,” Magnus says.

Kravitz lets out a ragged laugh. “For some definition of winning.”

The lich clears its throat and points towards where Lydia fell to the way. There, in a small pile of ashes, is the Animus Bell.

“Should I… should I get that?” Magnus asks, after a moment. “I mean, I’m wood so—”

“You’re probably the safest,” Kravitz agrees. “I could try, but I’ll be… slow.”

Merle stands and dusts himself off, then walks over to Kravitz, taking the lyre gingerly from his hands. “How are we going to get you out of here?”

“I think I can help with that,” the lich says. “If you let me use the Animus Bell—”

“No,” the three of them say, in unison.

“I’d hate it. Shut the fuck up,” Magnus says, in response to whatever the bell offered him, and then scoops it up. He turns his attention back to the lich. “There’s no way we’re letting you near this thing. _No one_ uses the relics.”

“I’d give it back to you,” the lich says. “If you let me use it just for a _moment_ I can make a life-like prosthesis for—for your friend.”

“No,” Kravitz says again. “Levitate worked well enough before.”

The lich doesn’t even have a real face under the hood of its robe and somehow it still manages to look _doubtful._ Kravitz rolls his eyes and looks down at where his leg used to be. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s… unsettling. To see the empty fabric of his trousers, tattered and dirty as they are.

“Let me do this, then,” the lich says, and pulls a leg off one of the mannequins on the platform with them. Unfortunate, since it’s still under Kravitz’s spell and doesn’t seem _pleased_ about losing a limb.

Kravitz knows the feeling.

The lich’s magic twists the leg, shaping it into something long and thin with a cuff and a handle—a crutch. Kravitz doesn’t know how comfortable a wooden will be, or if he’s going to be able to walk with it, but some support is better than the nothing he has now.

The lich doesn’t approach him, just levitates the prosthesis across the runway. “Try it.”

Kravitz takes the crutch. The lich has transmuted the cuff from wood into something soft and flexible that still feels form enough to keep the crutch in place. Today has been long and Kravitz is _tired_ and confused. “I still don’t understand why you’re helping us, but thanks.”

“I want answers,” Magnus tells the lich. “ _Now_. I think you owe us an—”

A strong wind blows through the room, cutting Magnus off and knocking the other mannequins over as it whips through the black smog, absorbing everything in its path, taking Wonderland apart piece by piece. It’s brief and fierce and when it lifts, they’re left sitting in the middle of the Felicity Wilds. There are other people around them, all looking varying degrees of miserable and tired, and Wonderland, every trace of it, is gone.

The Red Robe turns to them. “Listen, I don’t blame you for not trusting me right now, but I promise everything’s gonna make sense real soon.” He looks and Kravitz. “Please.”

Kravitz is exhausted. He remembers the way the Wilds looked, before—the rich greens and browns and yellows. He knows the clearing they’re in is probably beautiful, but for him it’s all just grey.

“Fine,” he says. Merle offers him a hand and Kravitz gets to his feet, wobbling in place for a moment, anchored by Merle’s steadying presence at his side, keeping him upright as he fits his right arm into the crutch. It’s unsettling, not being able to _feel_ his foot. To have everything just _stop_ below his knee. “This isn’t me trusting you though. I’m trusting Magnus’s instincts.”

Magnus, in his new wooden body, walks over and pats Kravitz on the shoulder. “Thanks buddy. How are _you_ doing?”

Kravitz tests his weight on the crutch, lets go of Merle to take a few steps. Walking is—hard. The uneven terrain and his lack of familiarity with the crutch mean he’s going to slow them down, wherever they’re headed now.

Kravitz made his sacrifices, but they’re out of Wonderland and now he’s got to have to live with them. Now he’ll _get_ to live with them.

At least he didn’t lose his body.

“I’ll make it,” he says, and puts on his best performers smile—false, but bright. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

*

Kravitz really feels the weight of everything the next morning, when he wakes from an exhausted sleep. His whole body protests every movement. His fingers are nearly raw from plucking the strings of his lyre during the final battle with Edward and Lydia, despite the calluses he’s built up over years of playing. His crutch is on the ground beside him.

It’s jarring to have that loss hammered home again, the same way the lack of colour in the world is jarring, the same way his weirdly protracted vision is jarring.

Kravitz takes a deep breath and represses everything he’s feeling.

Magnus is a _mannequin_. Merle can’t reach his god. Kravitz might be hurt and tired and sore, but he’ll be _fine_. He needs to stay alert because they’re following a _lich_ who destroyed their stones of farspeech. Kravitz can’t even call Taako to tell him about it. If this is a trap, Kravitz just wants it to be sprung already. He is _not_ in the mood for drawn out bullshit, after Wonderland.

The weather echoes the way he’s feelings, dark clouds hanging heavy above them. It’s not raining, but judging by the sky, that’s only a matter of time. Kravitz sits and manages to wrestle himself upright, with the help of the crutch. He wouldn’t say he has the _hang_ of it, but he’s getting better.

“Kravitz.”

Kravitz turns. Magnus is behind him, holding out a bag of jerky. “Here. I don’t exactly need to eat anymore.”

Kravitz takes the bag from Magnus. “Thanks,” he says. “How are you doing?”

Magnus’s wooden head tilts down. He gestures at his body. “I mean, not going to lie, Krav. Not great.”

Kravitz tries to hum in agreement and winces because _humming_ is apparently off the table. His throat practically screams in protest. “Fuck.” He reaches up to rub it. “Yeah, same.”

“I gotta tell you something,” Magnus says. “I didn’t—I wanted to wait until we were… settled. When I was out of my body, I started floating towards… I’m pretty sure it was the astral plane. I recognized it. From Lucas’s lab, you know?”

“I remember,” Kravitz says. “So you… are you saying you were dead? Are dead?”

“I saw Taako.”

Oh, well. That makes more sense, if Magnus is concerned about adding to his death count. “Taako knows about the work we do. I’m sure he’d plead your case with—”

“No, Krav. _Listen_.” Magnus puts a wooden hand on his arm. “I saw him and his sister. There was this stuff, this goop… I think there’s something wrong with the astral plane. I don’t know what, but I think Taako’s in trouble.”

Kravitz’s heart is in his throat. “What?”

“They were—I think they were trapped,” Magnus says. “I didn’t get a good look, I’m sorry. But I thought you should know.”

“We have to—I can’t believe you let me sleep. We have to _do_ something.”

“We will,” says the lich, from somewhere on Kravitz’s bad side.

Kravitz turns, awkwardly, to glare at him. “This is a private conversation.”

“Not that private,” Merle says, getting to his feet too. “Check and see if I’m asleep next time, Magnus.”

“I couldn’t help overhearing,” the lich says. “I know you don’t trust me right now. I don’t blame you, Kravitz, but events that’ve been in motion for over a decade are about to reach critical mass. There are gaps in your stories— _all_ of your stories—that are unimaginably massive. But before the end of this day, I promise they’ll be filled.

“There’s a cave nearby, and inside there's this invention I acquired years ago. I’ve used it to recreate my physical form several times now in pursuit of my goal. I’ve come close, but I’ve never reached it because once I’m in my body, I’m gonna forget all of the truths that I know in my lich form. I can try and convince myself to follow my own commands, but, well, I can be pretty stubborn. I also won’t have any of my potent magical abilities inside of my body ‘cause I’m not gonna remember the fact that I’m a lich at all.”

The lich turns to Magnus. “I see your wheels spinning, Magnus, but I’m sorry. It takes months for this device to grow a new body, and we don’t have months, fellas. We have hours.”

“I see,” says Magnus, voice soft.

“But I’ve been planning this for some time and I believe in my preparations. If we all follow my commands, we’ll be successful. I believe we can do this. We’re gonna have to.” The lich looks at Merle and Magnus in turn, but his gaze settles on Kravitz. “I’ll get back in my body. We’ll go up to see Lucretia on the moon. We’ll save everyone. Including your boyfriend, Kravitz. All I’m asking is for you to give me the benefit of the doubt. Just for a little while longer. If you do that, then I promise—things will become clear very soon.”

What the lich is describing is deep, dark, _powerful_ necromancy. It makes Kravitz’s skin crawl, just thinking about it.

Then again, he’s talking to a lich.

A lich who can, apparently, regrow bodies. A lich who might be able to get Magnus’s soul back _into_ one, one day. All they have to do is go along with his story and see it through whatever’s waiting for them at the end of this journey.

Kravitz bends and picks up his lyre. The faster they do this, the faster he can get his hands on a stone of farspeech to make a call. The faster they so this, the faster they can figure out a way to help Taako and Lup.

“I don’t trust you,” he says. “Not for a minute. There are things you’re not telling us and you’re a _lich_ —you tore out your own soul.” Kravitz pauses. “I don’t trust you, but I don’t have much left to lose either and there’s obviously something going on here. So I’m in. I’ll go along with it for now, but whatever this is, however it plays out—I’ve got my eye on you.”

There’s an uncertain pause, a moment where no one’s quite sure how to take him, and then Merle bursts out laughing, followed shortly by Magnus.

Merle slaps Kravitz’s good leg. “Pan _bless_ , kid—good to know having the shit kicked out of you hasn’t taken the wind out of your sails.”

The lich chuckles and Kravitz takes a deliberate step closer to it, lowers his gravelly voice. “I mean it,” he says. “If you step out of line, if you hurt my friends—I’ll make sure you regret it. I don’t care how powerful you are. I’m _very_ close to someone with a direct line to the Raven Queen.”

The lich laughs again—sharp and quickly suppressed, a little bitter. “Yeah, Krav,” he says. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> You may have noticed that the chapter number has gone up. This is because Wonderland got _very_ long. The next chapter will take us through Reunion Tour and the Stolen Century and then it's time for Story  & Song! I'm very excited to finally show all y'all my hand with this.
> 
> I'm also on tumblr, where I'm always happy to talk with you. My asks are wide open, y'all. Come and check me out [@marywhal](http://marywhal.tumblr.com)!


	4. Reunion Tour

They return to the moon only half-prepared to face people who expect them to be whole and alive. Kravitz feels almost like apologizing as Magnus, in his mannequin form, helps him and his crutch and his make-do levitation spell out of the sphere. This isn’t the homecoming everyone expects from them. One way or another, this is the beginning of the end.

The Bureau looks different, all in grey. Bleaker.

Avi’s expression—excited, pleased that they’ve returned—falls as soon as he sees Kravitz. “What happened?” he asks. “We thought you—we lost contact. We thought maybe you’d...” His eyes are locked on the place where Kravitz’s leg ends. “Kravitz...”

Kravitz gives Avi a tight smile. He doesn’t really feel like introducing the loss of his voice to the conversation yet. Not when they still have to tell everyone Magnus is dead. Barry’s presence in his bag, tucked away inside the pocket spa, weighs heavy on his mind.

“It was a rough one,” Merle says. “Real rough.”

Avi glances behind them, like he’s waiting for someone else to step out of the sphere. “Where’s Magnus?”

“He, uh…” Merle trails off as Carey rushes into the hanger, tugging Killian behind her. Noelle and Davenport are there too, and it’s—a lot. It hits hards, knowing how this lie is going to hurt them. Kravitz may not be certain how he feels about the Bureau or about Lucretia anymore, but these people are their _friends_.

This is going to be awful.

Merle takes a breath, looks at everyone’s concerned faces. “Magnus didn’t make it,” he says. “We lost him. He’s gone.”

Kravitz watches Carey fold in on herself and collapse into Killian’s arms, sobbing. Magnus is a mannequin and Kravitz’s can still feel the way he tenses up, resisting the urge to reveal himself.

“What happened?” Killian asks, looking at Kravitz and Merle. “How did—what _happened_ to you guys? We lost contact. What happened to your stones of farspeech?”

“Wonderland was worse than we expected,” Kravitz says, and holds back a wince. His voice is still a strange, awful thing—rough like he dragged it across gravel. “We have the relic, but we’re… we gave up a lot.”

Killian scoops Carey into her arms, holding her close. “It sounds rough,” she says. “I’m so sorry about Magnus.”

At the back of the hangar, Davenport clears his throat. “Davenport.”

Kravitz can’t glance at Merle with any subtlety anymore and Merle’s on his bad, left side. Kravitz isn’t willing to put his faith in the word of a lich and he knows Merle’s skeptical too. It’s obvious that there’s _something_ happening here—some bigger picture they’re not seeing—but he’s still not sure what it is.

Barry’s coin said the only way to not raise suspicions was to give up the relic, He was right, but with mannequin Magnus helping him stay upright, Kravitz isn’t really sure how he feels about handing over an object that lets you knock someone’s soul out of their body to an organization he can no longer put his faith in.

“Of course,” he says anyway, because this is about selling their faith in the Bureau. If they do that, they can investigate and figure out what’s _really_ going on. “Merle, grab the bell? I’m, uh, not moving very quickly at the moment.”

“Yeah,” Killian says, attention shifting to the mannequin. “What _is_ that? I mean, it’s… did you bring back some kind of wizardly artifact from Wonderland? Is that _safe_?”

“It’s a mannequin.” Kravitz keeps his tone even and as dry as he can as he looks at Killian, raises an eyebrow at her. “I cast animate object on it because right now I need a little _help_ getting around.”

Killian’s eyes flicker down to the space where Kravitz’s leg used to be and she nods once, shortly. “Yeah, right. Of course,” she agrees. “You know, I’m sure the Director will introduce you to someone who can fit you with something good.”

Kravitz is trying not to think about his missing— _lost_ —leg. There are too many other things to worry about right now. And isn’t that a good indication of how royally fucked his life has gotten? The fact that he’s missing half a _leg_ isn’t his worst problem. It’s on the backburner while he figures out if he and his friends have been duped into doing something that will destroy the world—either by the Director or by a lich.

First on the list of things to do is figuring out how to break into the Director’s office to see if there’s a second voidfish, like Magnus suspects. After that comes figuring out a way to contact Taako, because Kravitz _has_ to believe that he and Lup are okay. Magnus saw them struggling, yes, but there’s no way of knowing if—Kravitz stops that train of thought in its tracks. Some small, awful part of him wishes Magnus saw more. Wishes Merle’s last-ditch save had taken longer so Magnus had more information to pass on. Thinks maybe if _Kravitz’s_ soul was the one to be pushed out of his body he could have actually done something to help Taako.

He wishes that he hadn’t let his stone of farspeech be destroyed. He could _call_ Taako, at least. He could _try_ calling him to see if he—Kravitz can’t think about it now. He needs to focus on their plan or they won’t make it through this.

Merle hands Davenport the bell and Kravitz watches it leave the room. “We’re going to go see the Director,” he says. “We just—we need a minute first.”

“Of course,” says Avi, pulling out his flask. He toast them with it, then takes a swig. “And, hey… here’s to Magnus, right? Fuck, I can’t believe…” He trails off and takes another drink, shaking his head. “He was such a good dude.”

“Uh-huh,” says Merle, leading the charge out of the hanger. “Real good dude. We’ll have plenty of time for this at the funeral.”

Kravitz smiles sympathetically at Avi, as Magnus helps him move, slowly, towards the hanger door. “There’s peace in death,” he says. “I’ll miss him, but his soul’s at rest with the Raven Queen now, Avi. He’s looked after.”

Killian mutters something derisive about goths under her breath as they pass, cradling Carey against her chest. Honestly, Kravitz deserves it. Not for worshipping the Raven Queen, but he _is_ lying to her and to Carey and to _everyone_ about Magnus’s death so—yes, Kravitz will take the insults. He’ll take the insults and he’ll hope for a solution to Magnus’s soul being trapped in a mannequin that doesn’t involve necromancy.

Realistically, he knows that’s not going to happen, but he can hope. He’s got grayscale vision, one working eye, no voice, and one and a half legs. Taako is trapped somewhere Kravitz can’t get to him and the world might be ending. Kravitz is going to hold on to any shreds of hope he can muster.

*

They limp out onto the quad and find it deserted, everyone chased inside by the dark clouds hanging heavy in the sky.

“What’s our plan?” Merle asks. “We gotta see the Director first if we’re going to do with lich Barry told us and get into her office, right?”

“Yeah,” Kravitz says, trying not to rely on Magnus too much for support as they make their way towards the other end of the base. “If there’s anywhere she’s likely to keep a baby voidfish, it’s there. We need a decent excuse to—”

“Hold on.” Magnus pulls up short in the doorway of the Fantasy Costco. Kravitz is trying not to think about his and Taako’s first date. They don’t have the _time_ for that. “Do you notice anything different?”

Kravitz turns his head to ask Magnus what he’s talking about and realizes that yes, actually, he does. Now that Magnus has pointed it out, it’s obvious. “No music.”

Kravitz peers into the store, through the open automatic doors. It looks like it’s been ransacked—shelves empty, not a customer in sight. There aren’t many options for shopping on the moon. There’s _always_ someone inside the Fantasy Costco and they _always_ have stock.

“What the hell happened there?” Merle asks. “You wanna check this out?”

“Fuck,” Magnus says, standing up straighter and nearly knocking Kravitz off balance in the process. He pauses. “Sorry, Krav, but _fuck_ —we need to go in. Garfield has my blood.”

“I’m sorry, he _what_?” Kravitz frowns at Magnus.

“Yeah, you weren’t—you were buying wine, I think. It, uh, it helped bump up the price of a shield I was selling. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Just some blood and some hair.”

“Magnus,” Kravitz says, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Why is _this_ the team he’s ended up on? Why are these the people he considers his friends? “Garfield is a _warlock_. He has magic and it’s not _nice_ magic. You thought giving a _dark mage_ some of your blood and hair was a good idea? Do you know what someone could—” He stops short, because yes, Magnus knows exactly what someone could do with those. He’s seen it first hand only recently, with Barry’s body in his strange pod. “ _Magnus_.”

“I know how you feel about necromancy, Kravitz, but _look_ at me. I’m useless like this. I’m made of _wood_.” Magnus has no face in this body, nothing to emote with, and _still_ Kravitz can feel how strongly he believes in what he’s saying. “It’s my job to _protect_ the two of you and I can’t do that when I’m trapped in this body. Please.”

Kravitz hates feeling like he’s compromising his ideals, but he’s got a lich in his bag right now. Who’s he trying to fool? “Yeah,” he says. “Yes, fine. We’ll talk to Garfield.”

It’s possible they don’t have time for this, but Kravitz doesn’t want to blithely trust the word of a lich either. The presence of a second voidfish seems _very_ likely—Magnus certainly seems to think one exists, and Magnus is… possibly technically dead, like Noelle and Taako and Lup, and not subject to the effects of any voidfish now.

 _Magnus_ Kravitz trusts, implicitly.

They walk into the store and it’s—silent. Kravitz’s skin crawls as they make their way through the eerily quiet warehouse, the sound of his crutch and Magnus’s wooden feet echoing off empty shelves.

“We’re closed! Thank you for coming to Fantasy Costco though!” It takes Kravitz a moment to pinpoint where Garfield’s voice is coming from, but Merle turns towards the front of the store and the customer service desk.

“Fantasy Costco! Where all your dr—oh.” Garfield pokes his head up from packing up something behind the desk and he stops singing when he sees them. “It’s you. Hello. We’re still closed. See you later!”

“The sign says open 24 hours,” Merle says, jerking his thumb back towards the door. “What do you mean _closed_?”

“Well, that doesn’t really take into account the apocalypse, so I’ve gotta hit the ol’ road, Jack.” Garfield closes up the box he’s packing decisively. “The deals will continue, even after the moon is gone.”

“The apocalypse?” Kravitz repeats. “Is that what’s happening?”

Garfield pauses and leans towards them, squinting at Kravitz. His eyes flick down to Kravitz’s missing leg, then up to his unseeing eye. “Huh,” he says. “What happened to _you_?”

Kravitz looks down at his tattered suit and his—everything that’s wrong, then back up at Garfield. “Bad day,” he says. “Please, Garfield. We need Magnus’s blood. He died and we’d just—it would be nice to have something to remember him by.”

Garfield sets the roll of packing tape in his hand down on the desk in front of him, a shrewd look in his eyes. “You need… Magnus’s blood?” He smirks and his teeth are sharp. “Mm, _delightful_. Maybe we’ll do _one_ last trade. What’ll you give me for it?”

Kravitz, if he’s being honest, has an absolutely absurd amount of money stashed away right now. Magnus and Merle don’t _know_ that, because he hasn’t exactly admitted to his and Taako’s second date being at a casino. He wants them to like Taako. Taako hadn’t known about Kravitz’s _issue_ with gambling beforehand. He’d thought Kravitz liked gambling a _normal_ amount. It was reasonable for Taako to choose the casino, but Magnus and Merle wouldn’t see it that way.

And they might raise the fact that Kravitz could easily have said no and suggested another location but chose not to.

Still, they need to get this done quickly. They’re operating on a tight schedule. “One thousand gold.”

Magnus jerks in response to the offer, but manages not to say anything.

Merle, on the other hand, doesn’t need to censor himself. “One _thousand_ gold? Where did you get that kind of money? We haven’t gotten paid yet.”

“I’m good for it,” Kravitz says, keeping his eyes on Garfield. “What do you say?”

Garfield hums to himself, glancing at Merle and mannequin Magnus. His gaze settles on Kravitz and he smirks. “I suppose I can be convinced to part with it for one thousand GPs.” Garfield pulls a ring of keys from inside his robes, tossing them to Kravitz. “Now, if that’s all—”

“Hold on.” The flaming poisoning raging sword of doom is still in its protective case, behind the desk. Kravitz isn’t surprised. It costs more than most Bureau employees make in a year.

It’s also indisputably one of the most powerful weapons they could ever hope to acquire. It would have come in handy, in Wonderland. Kravitz didn’t want to spend Taako’s money before, but Taako doesn’t actually seem to _care_ much about money and maybe the sword will help save him. Maybe the sword will help stop the end of the world.

If Kravitz can side with a lich and let Magnus use necromancy, he can spend the money Taako gave him.

“What’s the price on that sword again?”

Garfield’s eyebrows raise and he glances at the sword, and then looks back at Kravitz. “It’s sixty-thousand gold,” he says. “I don’t think you can _afford_ —”

“I’ll take it,” Kravitz says, and pulls the winnings from his date with Taako out of his bag. He set them down on Garfield’s desk. “There’s an extra twenty-six thousand in there if you don’t ask questions and let us do this.”

Garfield picks up the bag, weighing it in his hand for a moment. “Eighty-seven thousand GPs,” he says. Garfield opens the bag to pluck out a coin, then bites down on it. He makes a pleased sound around the gold in his mouth and grins, wide and self-satisfied. “Legal tender.”

Kravitz is very carefully not looking at either Merle or Magnus. It’s money he could have offered up the last time they were at the Fantasy Costco, but chose not to. Maybe in the back of his mind he’d thought about using the money to pay off his debts. To make sure he was free and clear to return to Neverwinter after the Bureau, no threats looming over his head.

They’ve got to make sure there’s a Neverwinter for him to return to first though. He’ll worry about the money he owes to some _very_ bad people after they figure out what the fuck is going on and save his boyfriend.

“Deal,” Garfield says, and whisks the bag of gold away, tucking it into his robes. “You’ll find the blood in the back room. It’s one of those.” He waves a hand at the set of doors behind him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go before you change your mind about overpaying for your items. Thanks, sucker.”

And with that, Garfield twirls his cloak and is gone in a puff of smoke. A moment later, the crates and boxes and bags in the place start disappearing too, leaving them with the sword—still in its case on the wall—and the keys to the place.

“Good customer service,” Merle says. “No follow-up, no receipt.”

“What did you get _eighty-seven thousand gold_ , Kravitz?” Magnus asks, incredulous. “Did we just _scam_ Garfield?”

Kravitz pulls away from Magnus, making his way slowly around the desk, to the case that holds the sword. He fumbles with the keys for a moment until he finds the right one. “Do you remember when you found out I was dating Taako?”

“When he opened an interplanar portal in our living room? Yeah, we remember,” Merle says, crossing his arms over his chest. “What does that—”

“We went to a casino.”

Merle and Magnus go silent behind him for about half a second while they process this, and then they both speak at once.

“And you came _away_ with money?”

“Why did you let him _take you_ to a casino?”

“Because you _definitely_ didn’t come away with money the last time we were in Goldcliff.”

“You managed to gamble away all our battlewagon winnings in _two hours_ , Kravitz. How the fuck—”

“Okay!” Kravitz wrestles the sword down and turns in a cautious circle. Levitate isn’t really a good spell for keeping him upright when he’s not also using Magnus and the crutch. He should have asked if Fantasy Costco sold prosthetics. “Okay, calm _down_. It’s not as bad as it sounds. I didn’t even do any of the betting. I just watched Taako.” He pauses. “And maybe gave him a bit of direction, but _only_ because he didn’t know how roulette worked.”

Merle gives him a skeptical look. “Uh-huh,” he says. “That sounds an awful lot like an excuse.”

It absolutely is just an excuse. Kravitz opts to ignore the comment. “Taako split the winnings with me, but we started with his money and I didn’t want to use it before, but this is—I can find a way to pay him back. After we save him.”

“Wait.” Magnus holds up a wooden hand. “Are you saying you won _more_ than that?”

“We left with 175 thousand,” Kravitz says, and then holds the sword in his hands out to Magnus before they can fully process the number. It was a _lot_ of gold. Honestly, Kravitz is glad to be rid of his half of it. He knows himself too well. Maybe he thought about repaying his debts, but he wasn’t going to. Having all that _money_ just _hanging around_ was dangerous. “This is for you, Magnus. I can’t use it. If you’re really worried about protecting us, this is going to help.”

Magnus stares at the sword for a moment before stepping forward and taking it from Kravitz. “You really want me to have it?”

“Magnus, I can barely stay upright,” Kravitz says, snorting. “And I’m a _bard_. What am I going to do with a sword?”

“Makes a pretty good accessory,” Merle says. “Very cool lookin’ sword. You sure you don’t want _me_ to have it?”

“No, I think the one of us left with fully-functional vision taking the sword is _probably_ the right call.” Kravitz holds up the keys to the backroom and then tosses them to Merle. “You can take _these_ over though. I’m not fast at anything right now and I think we need to get moving.”

Merle takes the ring of keys—about thirty of them—and starts trying them in the lock. It only takes about six keys for Merle to find the right one, and by then Kravitz has managed to walk over too. He’s getting better with the crutch.

The door swings open to a storage room, shelves mostly empty. It looks like it was Garfield’s office once—there’s a messy desk scattered with papers and account books. A few freezers. And on a long central table, everything Magnus has ever sold to Fantasy Costco—everything _any_ of them ever sold to Fantasy Cosco.

And beside the table, in a tank _identical_ to the one Barry had down in his cave, floating in murky fluid, is a perfect replica of Magnus’s body.

“My body!” Magnus says, rushing forward to the tank. He taps a hand against the glass. “How do you think this works? Do I just—is there a button I push? How do I get in there? Kravitz, you know stuff about necromancy.”

“I know it’s _bad_ ,” Kravitz says. “I know I don’t trust it. Magnus, this? This is why you don’t sell your blood to random warlocks.” He gestures to the tank. “You can’t get in there.”

“What?” Magnus turns to face Kravitz. “Krav, I know your goddess is against this and that’s, you know, I respect your religion, but that’s _me_. That’s _my body_.”

“That’s not why—Magnus, I made a deal with a lich. I’ve already broken one of the central tenants of the Raven Queen. I understand your excitement, but _think_ about this. If you get in there, what’ll happen? What do we know from Barry?”

“No memories,” Merle says. “And we already told everyone you were dead. You get back in your body now, the jig’s up and we’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

“Explaining about how we brought a red robe onto the base,” Kravitz says. “A red robe who happens to be a lich who possessed Robbie and made Captain Bane poison himself.”

“To be fair, Captain Bane was trying to poison us,” Magnus says. “I feel like that one isn’t on Barry.”

“You’re humanizing him because he’s in a human body,” Kravitz says, shaking his head. “He’s a _lich_ , Magnus. He’s not stable. I know you and Merle don’t understand this the same way I do, but liches? Liches are magic users who chose to rip out their _souls_. You saw Edward and Lydia. They were more sane, more _powerful_ than the average lich and they were monsters. They were _mad_ with power. A lich who can plan? Who creates bodies for himself over and over? That’s not a lich you want to trust. I can’t _imagine_ how strong he is. Maybe right now he’s just Barry, but that’s not—that’s temporary.”

Kravitz shakes his head. “We can’t trust him. We can’t take his explanation at face value and I _know_ , Magnus. I know there’s probably a second voidfish. I want to find it too, but that doesn’t mean we accept everything Barry says without question.” He gestures at the tank. “That doesn’t mean you get into that body assuming everything will be okay on the other side.”

There’s silence, when he stops talking. Kravitz’s throat hurts, but he resists the urge to reach up and rub it. This is the new normal. He’s just going to have to get used to extended speeches ending with him feeling like he swallowed glass.

“You done?” Magnus waits for Kravitz to nod, once, in response, before speaking again. “I know you have your beliefs, Krav. I know we’re asking you to stretch them right now. I know you’re uncomfortable, but you’ve got to understand—I can’t _feel_ anything right now. I’m not hungry. I don’t breathe. My heart doesn’t—I _have_ no heart to beat. And that?” He points to the tank. “That’s me. I’m right there. Those are the arms that held my wife. I can’t do anything in this body. I trained my whole life to fight and protect and do good. And I can have that _back_.”

Merle rubs a hand over his beard, glancing from Magnus to Kravitz. He reaches up, squeezing Kravitz’s elbow. “It’s his choice, kid,” he says. “It’s _his_ body.” He turns his attention to Magnus. “But you gotta really, truly think about what’s important right now, Magnus. You need to decide what your priorities are, because we’re on a mission. We don’t have time to teach you everything again.”

Magnus is quiet for a moment, gazing into the tank, and then he turns back to them. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. Seems to me like what I’ve got is an extra life. And it would be wasteful to burn that now. I have a perfectly good body sitting right here, and I’m in a bit of a disposable one right now. Am I wrong?”

Kravitz doesn’t particularly like the implications of an _extra life_ , but—he pulls a face. “You’re not wrong, but Magnus—think carefully. You won’t have an enchanted coin to remind you of all the things you need to know when you wake up. You’ll be flying blind.”

Magnus shrugs. “Leave me a map. Leave me a note. When I get out of this stupid shell of a body, there are things I’ll be able to do to help you out. In the meantime—head to the Director’s office. Look for the Voidfish’s baby. We’ve got this. We can handle this.”

Kravitz is unconvinced, but Merle’s right. This is Magnus’s choice and there’s nothing he can do about it. Magnus is right too, in a way—they need to get moving because right now they’re wasting time. He sighs and lets himself give in.

“Okay, sure,” he says. “I can see literally _hundreds_ of ways this could go wrong, but what have we got left to lose?”

*

Lucretia’s face, when she sees Kravitz and Merle without Magnus for the first time, is a mask of careful sympathy that shatters, briefly, into genuine grief, before the professional facade comes back in full force. “Kravitz,” she says, taking a step towards them and reaching out a hand before pulling herself back. “Merle, my God. I was so—I’m so sorry about Magnus. About—everything. I knew there would be risks, sending you to Wonderland, but if I thought you couldn’t—I would never have sent you, if I’d known. I’m so, so sorry.”

The hall is mostly empty—just two guards, Davenport with Lucretia, and Angus, eyes fixed on the window into the relic disposal chamber.

Kravitz doesn’t trust Lucretia anymore. Not at all. “You tried to warn us,” he says, and watches shock flicker over her face, briefly at the sound of his voice. “We know you did your best to send us in prepared.”

Lucretia looks at him like she might shatter. “I’ve tried my best,” she agrees. “I’ve tried to do right by you three.” She pauses. “By you both. Would you—”

“Would you mind if we waited to debrief in your office?” Kravitz asks, cutting her off. He gestures, with his free hand, at his missing leg. “Standing’s not—I’d rather sit, if you don’t mind us waiting in there.”

“No,” Lucretia says immediately. “No, of course not, Kravitz. Merle. Please, use my office. I’ll order some food and we can—we can figure out Magnus’s rights of remembrance, after this.”

It feels too easy, but Kravitz has had a _rough_ couple of days and isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Without Magnus around to lean on, the spell and the crutch aren’t really doing the job of making Kravitz fully mobile. He needs another crutch. Or maybe his fucking _leg_ back.

He exchanges a glance with Merle. “Thanks, Lucretia,” Merle says. “Come on, kid. Lean on me and we’ll limp in there.”

Kravitz rests a hand on Merle’s shoulder and then begin the slow, steady walk to the Director’s office.

Her grief seems strange to Kravitz. Lucretia’s lost employees before. She shouldn’t look like she’s verging on tears, under her mask, just because Magnus is gone. She’s shown she’s good at compartmentalizing. She’s shown she can be ruthless, leaving Cam behind in Wonderland. Maybe she’s known them longer than some sorcerer she hired as muscle, but Brian and Boyland’s deaths didn’t seem to upset her this much. What made Magnus’s death and Kravitz and Merle’s losses hit harder?

As soon as they’re in her office and the door’s shut, Merle relaxes. “Shit,” he says. “I didn’t think that would work. Just _asking_.”

“Pretty sure she didn’t want to see us without Magnus,” Kravitz says. “What was she going to do? Tell me I couldn’t sit?”

Merle glances at Kravitz’s leg. “ _Do_ you need to sit?” he asks. “I know it’s possibly the end of the world and all, but I’m pretty sure we can afford to let you rest for a minute. And hey, if we survive this, me and you’ll be in an exclusive little club until Magnus finds a way to join up—the one eye, three limb club.”

Kravitz laughs and leans against Lucretia’s desk, reaching up to rub his throat. “I’m okay,” he says, suddenly profoundly grateful for Merle and his ability to try and make jokes, even under the most dire circumstances. “Sore throat, but—thanks.”

Merle shrugs. “Didn’t do anything. What do you think—”

He’s cut off by a muffled voice from Kravitz’s vest pocket—the coin Barry recorded himself on to give his memory-addled counterpart hints. Kravitz pulls it out as it’s mid-sentence. “—tor’s office, you’re gonna need to move past that big heavy door in there to get back into her private sanctum. And once you get back there, you will be trespassing, so I guess, well, I guess this is kind of the point of no return.”

The coin goes silent in Kravitz’s hand and he looks at the door to the side of Lucretia’s enchanted portrait. The point of no return. They’re on a floating moonbase with no backup other than Magnus—who may or may not remember them the next time they see each other. Lucretia’s got a whole division meant to take out rogue elements within the Bureau of Balance and Kravitz is suddenly unsure why he just _accepted_ that.

Probably because some part of him had instinctually liked Lucretia. Because Carey and Killian were nice. Because Avi was friendly and he liked Johann’s music.

“Do we really want to do this?” Kravitz asks, looking up at Merle. “Are you ready to take this risk? To follow the word of a _lich_?”

“Something fishy’s going on here,” Merle says. “But…” He trails off, shrugs.

Kravitz opens his bag and pulls out the pocket spa he’s used exactly twice, since buying it, where Barry is waiting. “Barry,” he says. “I know this is a lot to ask you right now, but you have to understand—we’ve been fighting for the Bureau for over a year. These are our friends. This is… I can’t speak for Magnus and Merle, but I’ve made a _home_ here. I need a reason. I need to know why we should trust you.”

Barry’s only just peeking out of the spa, barely visible. He frowns, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Um… I don’t—I don’t think I’m evil?” he says. “Like, I don’t think I’m an evil guy? I don’t—obviously there’s like, some pretty big holes in the Barry story. I got the ol’ swiss cheese brain, but, like, I don’t—” Barry stops, taking a deep breath and looks Kravitz in the eye. “I don’t know, but I feel like I trust _you_.”

Kravitz feels a chill run down his spine—like deja vu. There’s something _familiar_ about the tone of Barry’s voice and the serious look on his face. Kravitz hardly talked to Barry at all before he died in Phandalin. This is something else.

He shuts the spa back up in his bag so he doesn’t have to think about it. Kravitz doesn’t trust Barry, but he doesn’t trust the Director either.

Back in Refuge, in his memories, there’d been a whole, long chunk that were just—static. Memories that were missing. Now that the possibility of a second voidfish has been proposed, Kravitz can’t stop thinking about what that static _means_ for him—about all the time that’s just _gone_.

He’s a follower of the Raven Queen, but an emissary of Istus now. “Is the door locked?” he asks, looking up at Merle. “If it’s not locked…”

“No,” says Merle, shaking his head. “We’re not doing this based on _signs_. I’m good walking through that door. If we walk through, we help the big guy, like we said we would. And shit, we collected the sixth relic. Kind of put ourselves out of work, especially with the state you’re in now. The job’s not really holding us back. So we make a call. Either we go through the door because we want to, or we don’t because that’s what we choose. We’re not treating our lives like a game of baccarat.”

Kravitz looks at the door behind the Director’s desk and nods, just once. This would be so much easier if Kravitz didn’t have to think about what he’s about to do. He shakes off the uncertainty and pushes himself off the desk, working his way to the door. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s a choice. I think we need to keep moving. I want to know what the Director’s not telling us.”

Merle nods, walking over and placing a hand on Kravitz’s hip to help steady him. “I got your back, kid,” he says. “Open it up.”

Kravitz turns the knob and pushes the door open. The coin in his pocket starts talking again.

“Now, you see the twelve orbs on their pedestals in front of you? Here’s how this puzzle works: once an orb illuminates, you wanna touch every fifth orb moving counter-clockwise, unless that orb is the—is on the opposite end of the one you just touched. Oh, and after the third round, the emerald orb, you—don’t touch that one, you skip that one. Um, and if it—if it illuminates in sort of a warmer hue than it was on the last round, then you have to start this process over in a clockwise order but you make sure that you…”

Kravitz stares at the empty hallways in front of them, then glances down at Merle, tuning out the rest of Barry’s spiel. “Do _you_ see anything?”

“Nada,” says Merle. “Onwards?”

Kravitz nods and they step over the threshold together.

The floors opens up beneath them as soon as their feet make contact, its steady surface shifting to quicksand. Kravitz doesn’t have the mobility to fight its grasp—he sinks, rapidly, and Merle isn’t much better off.

“What the _fuck_ —” Merle cuts himself off, squirming beside Kravitz, trying to escape.

Kravitz’s eyes are locked on the fucking _scorpions_ heading towards them as they sink. Merle’s already in up to his waist and Kravitz isn’t much better off. It reminds him of Rockport, of being in the swamp, but Kravitz had been able to sing spells to help them get free then. He hadn’t fucked himself over in Wonderland yet.

“Merle—”

Merle whips out the vroom broom and it bursts into a bouquet in his hand, the flowers wilting rapidly as spiders pour out of it, crawling up Merle’s arm. Kravitz drops his crutch to try and help knock them off, but as soon as he does he lurches sideways and down, into the quicksand, which shouldn’t—

Kravitz’s head slips under the surface of the sand and the world is nothing. The world is dark, dark, _dark_ and Kravitz doesn’t know how he’s still breathing, doesn’t understand how he could let go of his crutch and _fall_ while thigh-deep in quicksand. It doesn’t make sense, but he’s someplace that’s all black and he’s alone and his chest _aches_ with the way that feels, but this isn’t—this doesn’t make _sense_ , the way he got here, and it’s—

It’s not _real_.

As soon as he thinks that, the illusion around him breaks, leaving Kravitz gasping for air like he just surfaced from drowning, fingers scraping against the linoleum floor he’s lying on. His left side throbs from falling on it and his heart his pounding fast and hard, but it was an _illusion_. A powerful one, but—

Merle screams next to him, writhing around on the floor, and Kravitz reaches over and shakes him. “It’s _fake_ ,” he says. “Merle, it’s not real. Wake up!”

Merle breaks free from the illusion’s grasp and goes still beside him. Kravitz is about to say something else—about Merle’s thrashing or that Lucretia must have changed her puzzle after Robbie broke in—when he registers the faint clanging sound echoing through the hallway and looks up to see a tripped alarm, protected by a bubble of magic because someone has cast Silence on it.

Kravitz jerks around to see who discovered them doing a _very_ bad job of breaking into the Director’s private rooms and sees Angus, flute in hand, a serious expression on his face.

“Angus—”

Angus cuts him off before he can continue. “Start talking,” he says, raising his flute to his lips. “I need to know what you know.”

Kravitz doesn’t _get_ kids. He was an only child. Even when he was young, he mostly spent time with his grandmother, learning music from her. When Angus showed up at the Bureau, having been made a Seeker, Kravitz had treated Angus the way he’d treat any other coworker—respectfully, if a little distantly. He’d rescued Angus’s books from Magnus a couple times and moved him and Merle along when they started teasing Angus, but honestly that was because it always happened when they had somewhere else they needed to be.

Kravitz had no idea why Angus had asked _him_ for music and magic lessons when Johann was clearly the better candidate. Johann didn’t have to train nearly as often. And, okay, Johann _probably_ didn’t know how to handle children hugging him any better than Kravitz did, but still. Kravitz didn’t get kids and didn’t know why Angus had latched on to him, but right now it was probably the only thing keeping them from being thrown to Lucretia so thank the Queen Angus had.

“Angus, please. You don’t—” He’s cut off again, and this time by Angus playing a brief, trilling scale on his flute. Kravitz feels the spell wash over him, trying to compel him to tell the truth, and brushes it aside. “Okay,” he says, after a brief pause. “I know we deserved that, but _really_ , Angus. I’m your teacher.”

“I practically invented Zone of Truth,” Merle says, snorting. “I’m _Mr_. Zone of Truth.”

“I'm hidin’ in this guy’s bag and I'm gettin’ kinda claustrophobic and also I'm not supposed to be up here,” Barry says, from inside Kravitz’s bag.

It’s just _really_ not Kravitz’s week. He reaches up to rub his eyes as Barry climbs out of his bag. “Okay,” he says. “This is—not how I expected this to go, but I suppose here we are. This is Barry. We smuggled him here in my bag. You really can’t—we don’t have bad intentions, Angus. I promise you.” Kravitz looks up at him. “What do you want to know?”

“What—what do you know? What’s going on here? Tell me now and sir, I swear, don’t—don’t lie to me. I'm the world’s greatest detective, you think I don’t know something’s up?”

Kravitz looks at Angus for a long moment, then sighs and grabs his crutch. “Merle, Barry, help me up,” he says. “Angus, cast your spell again. I won’t resist this time.”

Kravitz may not know much about who to trust or what to believe anymore, but he’s sure of one thing—Angus McDonald has an unshakeable moral core. They can trust him. He’s a kid, sure, but he’s sharp as a tack. Everyone knows he’s more than earned his role at the Bureau.

But maybe it’s a _bit_ fucked up that Lucretia chose to bring Angus here in the first place.

Angus plays his scale again and Kravitz lets the weight and power of the spell settle over him. He looks Angus dead in the eye. “I’m going to tell you everything,” he says, and he does—about Magnus in the mannequin and his body in the tank, about the things lich Barry told them, about the static from the chalice and their suspicions about there being a second voidfish hidden away in the Director’s private quarters.

Angus looks surprisingly unphased by any of it.

“Thank you, sir,” he says. “I feel like you’ve all been keeping me at arm’s length for a while, but I promise you, I’m good at this. Let me help. I love the Bureau. I love the Director. She’s given me an enormous opportunity here. She gave me a _home_. And I don’t think she’s doing anything wrong. Not on purpose anyway. But those spheres that Davenport takes into the relic disposal chamber? Well, they’re not the same spheres that come out.”

Angus reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of chalk, throwing it at their feet. “She just destroyed the Animus Bell. I made a little mark, discreetly, on the sphere before they took it in and it wasn’t on it when it came out. So I don’t know what’s going on, but obviously you don’t have to be the world’s greatest detective to know that there’s a bait-and-switch going on. But I’m—I—I feel like we’re—we don’t have the complete truth of what’s going on here. So if you say that you can find it, let me help you get there.” He raises his chin stubbornly, looking Kravitz in the eye.

Kravitz exchanges a look with Merle.

“Truth’s right down there,” says Merle, nodding to the door behind them. “On the other side of that.”

“Angus,” Kravitz says, before Angus can say anything to commit to this. “You have to know—if you do this, if you come with us now… we’re betraying the Bureau. This isn’t the kind of thing Lucretia’s going to forgive easily. This is—there’s every chance we’re the bad guys here. I don’t want you to do this if you’re not sure of your choice.”

Angus smiles back at him, striding into the hallway and down towards the door. “The ones looking for truth, well, they’re never the bad guys,” he says. “I know _that_ from my Caleb Cleveland novels.”

Kravitz has to hide a smile, despite everything. Maybe sometimes kids are cute.

Kravitz leans on Barry for support and follows slowly. The door at the end of the hallway looks very secure—it’s heavy and has a keypad lock. The coin in Kravitz’s vest pocket keeps mum, even when he pulls it out of his pocket to try and prompt it for a hint. He glances at Barry, who shrugs.

“Nothin’ here about that,” he says. “It’s all new to me.”

“It doesn’t appear to be trapped or anything,” Angus says. “Maybe just—maybe just try a number to calibrate our efforts?”

“Really wish you hadn’t given up the hole thrower in Wonderland,” Merle says. “Nitpicker, maybe?”

“He’ll just berate you. There’s nothing for him to pick,” says Kravitz. He managed to choose _all_ the wrong things to give up in Wonderland. It’s typical of his luck. He reaches out, after a moment of hesitation, and enters in a seven-digit number—4835182.

The lock clicks and the door opens.

“What,” says Kravitz, “the fuck.”

“Geez,” says Barry. “You _sure_ you’ve never been in here before?”

“Never,” says Kravitz. “I just pressed random buttons.”

“Maybe it wasn’t set up yet,” Angus says, frowning as he pushes the door open further. “The chances of guessing a seven-digit passcode on the first try are astronomical.”

“One in ten million,” Kravitz agrees, giving the door a wary look. “Keep your flute out, Angus.”

The room on the other side of the door bears a striking resemblance to Barry’s cave. It’s neater, but there’s paper everywhere—stacks of journals overflowing from the shelf behind the Director’s desk and _more_ journals on the desk itself—two next to each other, sitting beside matching inkwells.

In front of those, though, is a big metal circle, floating about the desk and rotating in the air. It’s carved in the shape of a tree with hundreds of branches and explains why Barry couldn’t get near the base in his lich form. The symbol is _undoubtedly_ religious. Kravitz isn’t even a cleric and _he_ can feel the holy energy radiating off of it.

“Is that for Pan?” Kravitz asks, grabbing Merle’s attention away from where he’s peering at the map Lucretia has pinned to the wall.

Merle turns to look at the symbol and shakes his head, walking over to grab it. “Non-denominational,” he says, and tucks it into his shirt.

There’s some irony in a holy man stealing a generic holy symbol when he can’t get in touch with his god, but Kravitz isn’t going to point that out to Merle now.

He glances around the room, eyes slipping over the strange tank in the corner a few times before he forces himself to _focus_ —forces himself to take a step towards it. The coin clicks on again.

“Okay. Now you should’ve had enough time by now to get in there and drink. So you should be remembering now, but it may take you a while. But the short version—we’re all—” Barry’s recorded voice shifts to static. “—and—” More static. “—was one of us, but—” Again. “—now if we can reach—” Kravitz gives the coin an unimpressed look because _of course_ this is when the useful message comes. “—we should be able to—” Static. “—before—”

He nudges Barry so they can move closer to the tank, watching the light inside flare up every time there are words they can’t hear. “We need to drink,” he says.

“Now, just grab some extra—” the coin says. “—for—”

Kravitz is getting annoyed now. He fishes his canteen out of his pack.

“—and—”

He plunges the canteen into the tank as the recording finishes playing, then takes a swig and passes it down to Angus, who drinks before handing the canteen to Merle. Barry takes out a canteen of his own and copies them, looking unsure about _why_ he’s following along.

The power of the Voidfish to stop them from seeing it was there is gone, suddenly, and Angus lets out a delighted gasp. “Whoa! Little baby voidfish,” he says, bending down to touch the glass of the tank.

Beside Kravitz, Barry goes down, hard, and almost brings Kravitz down with him. Barry’s clutching his head, shaking it like he’s knocking something loose, and Kravitz would ask if he’s all right, but he’s too busy balancing himself on just his crutch.

It hits him, too—not as hard as it hit Barry, but Kravitz feels something welling up in his mind, something _big_ that looms over him and makes his blood run cold. Something that takes his breath away. “Barry, what—”

Barry looks up from the floor and there’s a sharpness to his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Krav, Merle, don’t—don’t try to remember too fast. It’ll take you out.” He gets to his feet and reaches out like he’s going to steady Kravitz on his feet, then stops himself. “Just… don’t put up a fight. It’s—things are in motion now and we just kinda gotta go with the flow, but... You’re gonna start remembering soon, but just take it slow, please, I'm begging you. You _gotta_ take it slow.”

“What are you talking about?” Angus asks, glanced from Barry to Kravitz. “I just see this cute voidfish.”

“Trust me, kid,” Barry says, looking down at Angus. “It’s different for them. It’s—”

Someone clears their throat in the doorway of the room and they turn to face the guards standing there because right. The alarm.

“I think,” one of the guards says, “you better come with us to see the Director.”

Kravitz tucks the canteen into his bag. They’d been doing so _well_.

*

The Director is holding the Bulwark Staff. It’s the first thing Kravitz notices when they’re brought into her chamber. She’s holding the Bulwark Staff and channeling some kind of spell, kneeling on the dias at the front of the room beside one of the lead orbs that is supposed to aid in _destroying_ the relics.

There’s a white chalk star drawn on the orb’s side.

Barry breaks free of the guards, lunging towards Lucretia, but then Davenport is in the way in a split second, holding him back. They tussle for a moment before Barry let’s himself be pushed back into line with the rest of them.

Lucretia is still channeling, still using the grand relic she made when they all came to this world.

The thought hits him like a tidal wave. Kravitz can’t hold back the gasp that escape him, knees going weak as it hits home. He grabs at his head with his spare hand and sways, trying not to fall to the floor again.

Lucretia looks away from her spell, eyes going wide. “Oh my god,” she says. “Did you inoculate yourselves?”

“Yeah, we did,” Merle says, reaching out to give Kravitz support.

“It’s going to be too much,” says Lucretia. “You’re gonna remember too much, it’s too—it’s too specific. You’ll be killed. Why—why did you do that?”

Kravitz’s head is _pounding_ and he’s trying—he’s trying hard to make sense of why he suddenly knows, deep down in his bones, that he’s not from this world.

“We’re stupid?” Merle suggests, snorting.

Barry mutters something under his breath, an invocation Kravitz can barely hear, and then, “ _Drink_.”

Lucretia looks at Barry. “What did you say?”

Barry turns his attention back to her, away from whatever he was doing, and shakes his head. “Lucretia, you gotta help them remember. It’s over. You owe them that. You already have the relics, just help them remember. Their minds are gonna shatter if you don’t.”

Lucretia hesitates, her eyes scanning their faces, and Kravitz is _mad_ at her—mad in a way he didn’t expect to be, mad that knowing this will _hurt_ them if she doesn’t help isn’t immediately enough to have her giving in.

It should be. They’re _family_.

The thought makes him wince and clutch his head again. He hears Lucretia’s sharp intake of breath in response and then she starts talking.

“Okay, listen, boys and—just try to follow along as I explain it. Don’t try to think ahead because what happens next is very important,” she says. “Merle, Kravitz… there were six of us. We came from another world, another reality. We were—we were members of the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration. We were an elite team of scientists and explorers sent to study the realities beyond our own on this _impossible_ ship, but… something went wrong. We were pursued by a destructive force beyond measure or comprehension.

“When we came to this world, the six of us, we… we made the grand relics to try to hide the light that they contained from the Hunger that would consume us. But it was a mistake. We damned this world the moment we released the relics into it. I didn’t want to create them, but I was… I was overruled and so I took fixing our mistakes into my own hands.”

She looks grim, determined. She is a woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders—a woman both older and younger than she should be. “I fed a record of our mission to the Voidfish. And I made you all forget. I made the _world_ forget what we did, and I hoped to give myself an opportunity to collect the relics myself and put right what we made wrong. And I—I failed. My first attempt at collecting a relic was in Wonderland and I nearly died, taking the truth of this world and the light and the Hunger with me. So I set out to form an organization that could aid me in my task, one with checks and balances and a distrust of magical artifacts built into its core tenets.”

She gestures at the room around them. “But this, too, was unsuccessful. The Reclaimers I sent out... the thrall was too powerful for them to overcome. So I needed help, but the only ones I could trust with helping me collect the relics were the only people immune to their thrall. The people who made them. You.

“And the Voidfish, as it so often has, provided a solution. A child. I was able to feed the child selections from our mission log, providing an essential redundancy. You could drink from the mother and learn of the existence of the relics and help me find them and destroy them while the child continued to hide the truth of their creation and the mission that brought us to this world after our long voyage.

“So, I found you. Merle, Kravitz, and… and Magnus. I ensured your employment with Gundren to bring you in contact with the first relic—with my relic. I created a grand story of rogue wizards exploiting schools of magic and evil liches to set you along the path. And you did so well! But with the light of creation reformed, I can build a barrier to keep the Hunger at bay. I can build a home that all of us can be safe in, together.”

She pauses, looking down at her hands wrapped around her staff. “All of us except Magnus,” she says, voice soft. “And I’m sorry for that. I am, truly, but—we can’t do this. Not again.”

Lucretia’s expression is impossibly sad as she looks up at them. “Those are five of us,” she says. “Me, Barry, Kravitz, Merle, Magnus, and, of course, the sixth. Our captain. When I redacted the logs to feed to the second Voidfish, I let you—I let you keep your names while eradicating any information pertaining to the mission, but for our captain, his life _was_ the mission. He was impossible to edit around and so, unfortunately, his name was all he kept.”

Davenport drops the silver tray he was holding and wipes off his mouth with the back of his free hand, Barry’s canteen clutched in the other. He stares at Lucretia in horror. “Lucretia,” he says. “What have you _done_?”

And then the doors to the chamber slam open, bouncing off the walls, and Killian and Carey and Magnus—back in his flesh body—barrel into the room. And behind them—behind them is _chaos_. Shadowy Hunger agents, attacking everything they come across, fighting Bureau members who can’t _see_ them, thanks to Lucretia and her ill-thought-out plan.

And worse—the sky, full of living darkness, sending thick swirling pillars crashing to the ground below, and from those pillars, the Hunger's armies are manifesting, ready to lay waste to the world, ready to kill everything in their path.

Kravitz reaches out and grabs hold of Barry’s arm, clutching at him, as that deja vu feeling from earlier hits him again, in full force this time. This is the end of the world—the end of _everything_ —and it’s familiar in a way the apocalypse shouldn’t be. It’s an end that Kravitz has seen before. One he’s survived and died in before—an end he’s died trying to _stop_.

Kravitz stares at the Hunger outside—stares knowing deep down in his bones that the inky tendrils filling the sky are oil-slick opalescent, flecked with colour, not the solid black they appear to his color blind eyes—and Kravitz _remembers_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, please comment and leave a kudos!
> 
> I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter out! March/April was a very busy time for me, but now that we're about to launch into Stolen Century _you bet_ we're back on track. Did the chapter count go up? Yes it did. Doing this chapter and Stolen Century at the same time was untenable in length, but _good news_ , the next update should be sometime next week! 
> 
> As always, I can be found on tumblr [@marywhal](http://marywhal.tumblr.com), where my asks are wide open.


	5. The Stolen Century, pt. 1

In Kravitz’s mind there are two sets of memories, diverging—two childhoods that seem equally true until he thinks about them for more than a moment. Then, the memories that are real are so obvious he wonders how he ever missed the gaps Lucretia left in his mind.

He remembers his grandmother teaching him to play the piano. He remembered that before, too, but the outcome—the way it defined the arc of his life—is radically different with his real memories intact.

 _He_ is different.

When his grandmother was young, she travelled the world, playing piano in grand concert halls. In his memories—in _both_ sets of memories—her face is soft with age and creased with smile lines. Her house smelled like cinnamon and wood polish and was always filled with music. If not from her playing—her hands still dexterous—then from one of the records in her vast collection. The walls were littered with pictures of her in her youth—portraits and candid shots alike, posters from her tours, sketches from newspaper reviews—the remnants of her storied career as one of the top pianists in the world.

His grandmother was glamorous and fashionable and talented. She wore bright red lipstick and spent an hour putting curlers in her hair every night to make sure she looked _just so_ every morning. Kravitz adored her and she doted on him. She lay a foundational love of music in him, thick and deep. A love that shaped him.

She started him young, had him practice his scales every day. Kravitz’s mother rolled her eyes, but Kravitz took to music like a fish to water and as long as he was enjoying himself, his mom didn’t mind that baby sitting was really just an excuse for Grandma to mould Kravitz into a prodigy.

By the time he was seven, Kravitz wanted more than _anything_ to conduct an orchestra. He wanted to travel the world and wow crowds and wear all the best clothes. He wanted to be _just_ like his grandma.

When he was seven, she died.

Kravitz wore a suit his grandmother bought him to the funeral. His shoes shined—obsessively polished the night before—and his short, tight curls were tamed with gel. His hands shook and he couldn’t stop crying, but he was supposed to play her favourite songs as part of the service and Kravitz was _determined_ to make her proud. Even if he missed her more than anything. Even if she wasn’t there to hear the music.

Here is the first difference—the place where his memories begin to unravel. A gift given not at a birthday, but a funeral—given when it would hang heavier around his neck, when it would mean more, hold more power.

His mother pulled him aside before the funeral started and pressed a medallion into his palm—thick and heavy in his hand, cold when he curled his fingers around it. It was made from silver and stamped with a stylized raven, the emblem of the goddess of death.

“When people die, they go to the astral plane,” his mother said. “They join the sea of souls and spend time with their loved ones who passed on before them. They’re at peace. One day, when they’re ready, their soul passes back into this world and they’re reborn.” She kissed Kravitz’s forehead. “The Raven Queen is looking after your grandma, baby. Pray to her to find peace of your own too. She looks out for those in mourning.”

So Kravitz prayed. Kravitz wore the amulet on a chain around his neck and he didn’t take it off. He _kept_ not taking it off. He turned to this dark goddess that few mortals followed and found comfort in the quiet she granted him.

Between piano practice and voice lessons, he visited the the Raven Queen’s temple and left little offerings—glass baubles and shiny beans, small tokens of his belief. He fed the ravens that congregated on temple grounds. He lit candles to help guide the deceased to the astral plane and prayed for the souls of those who passed without anyone to mourn them.

Weeks, months, _years_ passed, and Kravitz continued to pray—to _speak_ —to the Raven Queen. He told her all his hopes and dreams and desires. He told her about his life. Everything he might otherwise have told his grandmother.

This is the way Kravitz remembered it before—he prayed to the Raven Queen and he practiced his music. He polished his craft. He learned simple magic tricks to charm the crowds and tried to live up to his grandmother’s fading legacy, the one no one else ever seemed to recall, later, when he was grown and mentioned her name at parties. Kravitz was a talented musician, yes, but not the sort he’d always dreamt of being. He wasn’t the man he’d planned on becoming.

And now he remembers why—now Kravitz remembers the underground temple more clearly. Now he can almost feel the way the stone floor dug into his knees. Now he has the sense memory of the candles burning, can recall the sound of the ravens that fluttered into the altar room to pay respect to their Queen. He remembers being a teenager, dressed all in black, hands raised in supplication to the goddess of death as he lay his life bare for her.

Kravitz told her he wanted to be a professional musician—a conductor. He told her about his experiments, about infusing magic into his music, about mastering the simple tricks of an amateur bard. He told her about the adrenaline rush of performing, of pushing himself to do _more_ , to try _harder_ every time he stepped on a stage.

Kravitz was proud and vain like his grandmother. Clever, like his mother. He had a weakness for games of chance, like the father he never met. He was dedicated to music and his goddess.

When Kravitz chose to care about something—when he _devoted_ himself—he was passionate in a way few people ever were. So he practiced, and he sang, and he prayed to the Raven Queen.

When he turned sixteen, she answered.

She came to him—not to her clerics or her paladins, but to _him_ , to _Kravitz_ , to this gangly teenage boy kneeling in her temple—and peered into his soul. She turned his life over in her hands and saw something she wanted. She came to him, and she offered him a deal.

Kravitz—young, awed, _devout_ Kravitz—bowed his head to his goddess and said _yes_.

*

There’s a list of things Kravitz forgot: the feeling of his soul being tied to a goddess, of the magic she granted him flowing through his veins—there even when he didn’t sing, even with no keys to play or strings to pluck. It came to him more quickly. Spells made of words thick like ichor dripped from his tongue, flooded his mind when the Raven Queen granted him access to them. He was never a wizard, didn’t _need_ to study arcana, but he did—went to school for it, even.

Kravitz forgot the way the Raven Queen’s influence shaped him—the way she let him shape himself, as changeable as her ever-shifting form. His hands tipped with claws when he wanted them to be, his teeth sharp. Gills on his neck and webbing between his fingers when he swam. His features—his _body_ —mercurial, altering to suit his needs.

He forgot the companionship she granted him—the feeling of his familiar’s talons digging ever so slightly into his shoulder or his arm. The Raven Queen’s constant presence in the back of his mind.

Kravitz forgot what it was to never be lonely. He forgot what it was to have a team that felt like family. He forgot what it was to love two things equally and feel pulled between them.

Kravitz forgot a promise he made—another in a long line of debts he owed—and _that_ he wishes could stay forgotten.

*

Kravitz never planned on swearing himself to the Raven Queen. The Institute of Planar Research and Exploration and the way it led to his place aboard the Starblaster was the same—something that seemed to happen _to_ him rather than a conscious choice he made. He was ambitious, smart, and had plenty arcane knowledge at his disposal, but he followed the goddess of death. That put people off.

Kravitz’s presence was often taken as a bad omen. To be fair, he wore a lot of black and walked around campus with a raven on his shoulder. If he saw himself alone at night, he’d probably think he was bad news too. It _definitely_ didn’t lend itself to being chosen as part of an exploratory team aiming to leave the planar system.

The fact that Barry Bluejeans, science officer for the IPRE’s first mission, took a shine to him was a surprise, but not one Kravitz minded. Barry was a kindred spirit. They stayed up late talking about death. Barry was _fascinated_ by Kravitz’s connection to the Raven Queen and the value Kravitz placed in it.

In retrospect, he probably should have figured out Barry was a necromancer before they were several months into their friendship. Definitely before Barry encouraged him to apply to join the Starblaster crew as the resident arcanist. _Certainly_ before accepting the position.

Instead, he clued in a month and a half before launch.

They were at Kravitz’s place, going over notes on summoning circle diagrams Barry uncovered in the Institute’s archives. Kravitz’s familiar hopped over to look at the notes too, her head cocked to the side, and Barry broke off a bit of meat from his burger, holding it out to her like it was nothing—like keeping company with a very large raven was mundane.

Lethe didn’t like Barry much, but she _did_ like meat, so she was tolerating his presence in Kravitz’s apartment.

It struck Kravitz, then, how much his life had changed and was about to _continue_ to change because one day Barry Bluejeans had taken a look at Kravitz’s familiar, clocked him for a warlock, and decided they absolutely _had_ to talk about the differences between their magic.

“You know, most people are… I don’t want to say _afraid_. Wary, maybe. They’re wary of me,” Kravitz said, watching Barry feed his bird.

Barry looked up at Kravitz and quirked an eyebrow, amused. “Too spooky for them?”

Kravitz paused. Gave the large raven on his kitchen table a pointed look. “Maybe just a bit.”

“You don’t scare me,” Barry said. “I’ve seen you panic and fake an accent because you thought a guy was cute, bud.”

“One time,” Kravitz said. “It happened _one time_.”

“I’m not great at flirting either, but that’s not something you forget.”

Lethe pecked Barry’s hand and crossed the table to settle down next to Kravitz’s arm, feathers ruffled.

Barry laughed as he rubbed the back of his hand. “Fuck. Was that her or was that you getting retribution?”

“Lethe’s got a mind of her own,” Kravitz said, snorting. “She’s a _very_ smart bird.” Lethe preened beside him and Kravitz gave her a fond smile.

“I’ve been reading,” Barry said, a statement which usually preceded their more heated discussions about the ethics of life and death. “ _Is_ she a bird?”

The answer to that was… complicated. Barry probably knew this from whatever tome he’d picked up on familiars. “Technically she’s a spirit sentinel the Raven Queen sent to watch over me,” Kravitz said. “But she’s also a raven. What did you read?”

“I mean, that, basically,” Barry said. “I guess it makes sense that she doesn’t like me. I wondered.”

Kravitz ran a hand over Lethe’s silky soft feathers and let her have some of his food too. If she were a real bird, it would be terrible for her, but Lethe didn’t actually need to eat—she just liked to. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know.” Barry shrugged. “The necromancer thing.”

Kravitz did not know. “What?”

“The necromancer thing,” he repeated. “Because the Raven Queen doesn’t like necromancers?”

“Yes,” Kravitz said, after a beat, because _of course_ he knew the Raven Queen didn’t like necromancers. He’d been a follower since he was eleven. Sworn to her service since he was sixteen. He _knew_ her. “What does that have to do with Lethe not liking you?”

Barry frowned at Kravitz like he was trying to work out a particularly tough bit of arcane theory. “Bud,” he said. “You know I’m a necromancer, right?”

Kravitz froze, staring wide-eyed at Barry. “What?”

“Yeah.” Barry sat back in his chair. “Krav, we’ve talked about necromancy… a lot. You knew I was a wizard.”

When Barry put it like that, it seemed obvious. In the moment, though, it hadn’t. “Barry, I follow the _Raven Queen._ ”

“I know,” Barry said. “I mean, I thought it was a little strange you were so okay with being friends at first, not gonna lie. I figured it was, you know, some kind of exception because we’re going to be working together, and then there’s the Starblaster to consider. It would be awkward if he didn’t get along when there’s only six of us on the thing.”

Kravitz stared at Barry, despairing. He could cut himself some slack. Barry was weird and morbid, sure, but Kravitz was a warlock who swore himself to the _goddess of death_ as a teenager—glass houses and all that. Kravitz hadn’t _known_ and hadn’t thought to ask about where Barry’s interest in death came from because he’d assumed that a _necromancer_ wouldn’t want to associate with someone whose goddess actively hated his kind.

He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The problem was he liked Barry. He liked Barry a lot. They’d become good friends in the time they’d known each other. The Starblaster relied on the bonds between the crew to fly so of _course_ them continuing to be friends was important. “I can’t believe I’m okay with this. I can’t believe I’m letting this happen.”

Barry laughed and broke off some more meat, extending an arm to bribe Lethe with it. “Sorry, Krav. Thought you knew.”

“I probably should have,” Kravitz admitted, dropping his hand to look at Barry. “You weren’t trying that hard to hide it.”

Barry glanced down at the necromantic diagram by his elbow—the summoning circle that Kravitz would have to confiscate, in case Barry got any _ideas_ from it, now that he knew what Barry was. “Yeah, didn’t seem like there was much of a point. I mean, two months on that ship. None of us will have many secrets after that. Cramped quarters.”

Kravitz snorted as Lethe ate the meat from Barry’s fingers and then nipped one of them pointedly. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m going to do my best not to learn all of Merle’s.”

*

Kravitz and Barry were next to each other when the Starblaster moved from one planar system to the next. They stood side by side and watched as a thirteenth plane—inky black and slick like oil—descended on their own, as their world with its purple skies and two suns and 4, 835, 182 people was devoured. One of Kravitz hands was on the railing, the other bunched in Barry’s sleeve. Barry’s hand was clasped around his forearm.

It’s a position they found themselves in often—emerging from the darkness over and over, again and again, for the next hundred years.

*

It took a full day of trying to get back for them to realize there _was_ no going back—that wherever this world was, they were stuck on it for the foreseeable future. When the Light fell, a day after, it was like the universe sent them an out—an opportunity to reorient and figure out what was going on. To maybe recalibrate the bond engine, somehow. To get home.

The sky filled with eyes on the third day and Kravitz realized he hadn’t felt the Raven Queen’s presence since they arrived on this new plane.

They were mid-flight when the realization struck — scanning for settlements, cloaked in illusions to hide the Starblaster and keep any locals from spotting them. Except it seemed like the only beings on the world were… animals. Animals that coexisted, that used tools, that spoke across species in a series of guttural grunts none of them could interpret.

Kravitz snagged Merle because he was the once most likely to understand. “Have you felt Pan at all?” he asked. “Have you used your magic?”

Merle frowned at Kravitz for a moment before he caught his meaning, eyebrows raising. “Shit,” he said. “Don’t tell me we’re down a magic user. Can you even _fight_ , kid?”

“I’m the same age as Magnus and Lucretia is only a couple years older than us,” Kravitz said, even though Merle never processed the information. “I’m two months _older_ than Magnus.”

Merle gave him a skeptical look.

“Yes, I can fight,” Kravitz said. “I have training. I have knives.”

“What you need is something big and heavy,” Merle said. “A hand axe or a hammer of something. Something you can do real damage with.”

“I did just fine with knives in training,” Kravitz said. “I’m a little more concerned about my _magic_.”

Merle looked Kravitz over. “Well,” he said. “Have you tried reaching out for her?”

Kravitz hadn’t. Kravitz hadn’t even tried to summon Lethe because if he tried and his goddess didn’t answer and Lethe didn’t show up, what was he supposed to do? Yes, _technically_ he knew how to fight hand-to-hand, but it wasn’t a skill he’d emphasized in his training. Kravitz liked suits and music and his goddess. He was devoted to death, but not to _causing_ it. His faith was all about balance.

He was fucked, basically, if the oath he swore to the Raven Queen wasn’t applicable in other planes.

Kravitz looked down at Merle, staring up at him like he really _was_ a kid and should have figured this out by now, then closed his eyes and _reached_ for her.

Kravitz got in answer almost immediately—a pulse of interest that took his breath away as the Raven Queen turned her attention to him, all at once. She felt—confused, through the lines that tied Kravitz’s soul to her. Curious. She was close, suddenly, and he shivered as the cool weight of her presence settled over him, as he felt her press against his mind.

It was like she’d never seen him before—like Kravitz was a stranger to her, despite their connection. He felt the looming threat of that strangeness—she would pick him apart with her claws and her beak if he didn’t meet with her approval.

A switch flipped in Kravitz’s mind, at her urging, and suddenly the impressions he got from her made sense and his knees buckled with intensity of it—with the sudden restoration of _everything_ he was supposed to get from her. Everything he was used to and... more, maybe.

He could feel her laughing at his reaction as she pulled away.

Merle caught him before he hit the ground, guiding him down onto the deck with a grunt. “I take it she’s still listening?” Merle asked after he got Kravitz into a proper sitting position.

Kravitz took over keeping himself upright, breathing deep to try and slow his heart rate. Something felt off and he couldn’t figure out what it was. “She—yes,” Kravitz said. “She’s not—she’s different.”

Kravitz reached up to rub his hands over his face and Merle caught his wrists, stilling them. “Kid,” he said. “Look at your hands.”

Kravitz looked down and jerked his hands out of Merle’s grasp because they weren’t _his_ anymore. His fingers were topped by talon-like claws—the tips of them darkening from the rich brown of his skin to pitch black beneath dark, sharp nails that were suddenly distinctly _corvid_ in nature.

They weren’t his hands, except they moved when he moved and he could feel them and they _were_ his—even if his brain hadn’t yet processed what he was seeing.

He flexed his fingers. “Shit.”

Merle snorted. “Yeah, you’re liable to take your eye out with those. Shapeshifting a gift you normally have?”

“Yes, but not... like this.” Kravitz shook his hands, attempting to make them go _normal_ again. Nothing happened, which wasn’t—the Raven Queen didn’t casually _make changes_ to him like this. She didn’t _edit_ him. “This doesn’t happen without me _wanting_ it. I’m—I didn’t _think_ about this. It just happened.”

The look on Merle’s face was half-amused, half-concerned. Kravitz was pretty sure their _cleric_ should be more concerned over him losing control of his magic. “So the Raven Queen,” Merle said. “She any different here?”

“What do you mean?” Kravitz asked, frowning.

“You know, more...” Merle waved a hand. “More _raven-y_.”

Kravitz leaned back, actually physically recoiling from the suggestion. “The Raven Queen is not a _bird_.”

“Kravitz.” Merle laid a heavy hand on his shoulder to cut him short. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but _everything_ is an animal here. Why not a raven?” He reached down with his other hand to tap the back of one of Kravitz’s clawed hands. “Why not give her strange, fleshy follower a set of claws to defend himself with?”

Merle’s explanation made a strange, horrible amount of sense.

“Fuck,” Kravitz said, looking down at his hands again. He curled his hands into fists and could feel the tips of his claws, razor sharp against his skin. He grimaced. Talons. He’d have to be careful about _everything_ until he figured out how to get rid of them. “Well, you asked about weapons and fighting.”

“Still think a hammer would be more useful,” Merle said. “You okay?”

Kravitz wasn’t sure he knew what okay meant anymore. Their world had been destroyed—consumed. There didn’t seem to be any people here and—he stopped, looking up at Merle.

“I think she gave me something else,” he said. “When she—I could understand her, towards the end of things. She was laughing at me, but I could _tell_ it was laughter.”

Merle gave him an odd look. “Right,” he said. “So your patron laughed at you and gave you claws.”

“She made me more like her,” Kravitz said. “Merle, I think I can _translate_ now.”

Merle paused and then gave the claws a more appreciative look. “Shit, kid. Dav’ll be pleased someone can make sense of all the grunting now.” He offered Kravitz a hand to help him to his feet. “You know, Magnus might be able to help you manicure those things.”

“Language now, manicures later,” Kravitz said. “If we’re going to get home, we have to find the Light.”

*

They got close. Close to the Light. Close to getting everyone out intact. Close to escaping. When the darkness they didn’t yet call the Hunger fell again, they weren’t prepared. They didn’t have a timeline—hadn’t known they only had a year to prepare themselves for its arrival.

Kravitz ran for the ship, Lethe flying close behind him. Magnus stayed. He fought. He _died_.

They left. They boarded the Starblaster and Davenport flew them through the Hunger, out into the space beyond the plane, through to the other side—to another world—and as they passed through the barrier, the world _shifted_. Kravitz was pulled apart again. Found himself standing where he’d been that first time, with his hand on the railing and Barry beside him—his claws gone.

And Magnus, back from the dead, as bewildered and happy as any of them to find himself alive again.

Dread pooled in Kravitz’s stomach as he looked at Magnus. Magnus who had _died_. Magnus who should _still_ be dead, by all rights. Magnus, the youngest of the crew, who he wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —wish death upon.

Kravitz pushed the dread and the doubts and thoughts of Magnus’s death down and away. He reached for the Raven Queen again, for another new goddess who found herself inexplicably connected to him, and he let her consider his soul for its worth.

For the first time, he shielded part of his mind from her.

The Light followed them again. Then the Hunger. The cycle repeated and in a year they ran, the Light tucked away inside their ship this time. They journeyed onwards because they had no other choice.

*

Kravitz knew death more intimately than most living beings. Most, but not all, because by their eighth cycle, Magnus had three deaths under his belt and Barry’d joined the club—one death, a slip and fall while scaling the side of a mountain to retrieve the Light of Creation.

Kravitz knew death more intimately than most, but the world they landed on during their eighth cycle offered him a new perspective on it and on the line—the _paper thin_ divide—between life and death.

The world was beautiful by night, when its giant bioluminescent mushrooms glowed neon hues in the dark. The near-constant rain falling from the sky reflected their light, giving the entire plane an ethereal quality, but making it nearly impossible to see anything on the ground below them—not through the haze cast by the mushrooms or through the thick clouds of spores they emitted every time the Starblaster got too close.

Sometimes it seemed like there were creatures down there, making their way through the thick, dark forest.

It took a good month to find a settlement among the looming forms of the mushrooms. It was populated entirely by halflings and dwarves and gnomes and the villagers looked at the human members of the crew with curiosity and wariness.

Kravitz didn't know if humans had never existed here or if they’d died out.

On this plane, life was as close to death as Kravitz had ever seen it. Life here was spent wearing a mask lest you inhale fatal spores. Life here was going out every night to burn back the mushroom forest to maintain the tenuous borders between the village—Fungston—and the other beings that inhabited the world. Life here was knowing if you ventured beyond the bonfires keeping Fungston safe during the day, you might not come back. Life here wasn’t _life_. Not really. It was a grinding, daily fight for survival. It was a war the people of this world were losing.

The Raven Queen _thrived_. Kravitz hadn’t ever experienced her with strength like she had here before. The magic at Kravitz’s disposal, the deep well of it he had access to, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Merle started preaching to the village about Pan.

“Merle, is that—I mean, is that the best use of our time here?” Barry asked, through his mask, after Merle’s first sermon. Fungston didn’t have a church. Merle just planted himself in the building that functioned as the village’s town hall and community centre and started talking.

“These people don’t know if they’re going to be obliterated in a year,” Merle said. “You’ve seen the way they’re living. The way I see it… why not give them some hope for the time they’re here?”

“So you’re going to stay behind?” Magnus asked, looking up from fiddling with one of the flamethrowers the scorch team that volunteered to search for the Light with the crew loaned him.

“I can do more good here,” Merle said.

Kravitz brought Lethe and sat in on Merle’s sermons with her in his lap, her head wrapped with a small version of the Fungston masks, like a little helmet. She hated it, but she’d die without it and Kravitz liked having her close, liked the comforting weight of her on his shoulder as he walked through the village.

Merle talked about hope and joy and finding the beauty in small things. He talked about the importance of life. Fungston _loved_ him.

Kravitz lurked in the back of the town hall, as the people around him talked about building a church dedicated to Pan, and stroked Lethe’s feathers. At home he’d never felt like the bad omen people thought he was, but here it was hard not to be painfully aware of what he was. Death was a common, daily experience here.

“You could help out,” Merle said, once he made his way through the congregation to where Kravitz waited. “I could use an extra pair of hands for this and if there’s anyone on our team who knows something about faith, it’s you.” He smiled, chipper beneath his semi-opaque gas mask. “Balance—that’s what you’re about, isn’t it? Life and death in harmony?”

Kravitz glanced at the people milling around the hall, the smiles on their faces and the light in their eyes as they talked about Pan and Merle’s sermon. “The people here don’t need me telling them about death,” he said. “They know. Besides, I’m not a cleric, Merle. I’m not trying to convert people.”

Merle shrugged. “You need to do something, kid. You’re letting the spores get to you.”

Kravitz gave Merle an unimpressed look. “If the spores were getting to me, I’d be dead.”

“The rain, then,” Merle said. “You ask Magnus if he needs help? The team’s heading out soon.”

“Someone should stay here with you,” Kravitz said. “I’m the only one who comes to the sermons.”

Merle snorted. “I’ll be fine with the village. We’ve got lots of work to do to get the church built. Go have an adventure. Get your blood pumping.” He reached up, scratching Lethe under the chin. She leaned into his touch because Lethe liked Merle. Lethe liked everyone on the crew except Barry. “I can practically feel the magic rolling off you, Kravitz. Put it to good use.”

*

Kravitz went out with Magnus and the rest of the crew in search of the Light. Merle was right. He had power thrumming through his veins that he’d barely touched this cycle. Kravitz’s magic fluctuated—it waxed and wane with the hold the Raven Queen had on whatever world they landed on. Who knew what it’d look like during their next cycle? He might as well use the advantage he’d been giving while he had it, rather than wasting time feeling guilty over something he couldn’t control.

The mushrooms were beautiful from a distance, but up close, as they made slow progress through the dark forest, knowing that there were mushroom beings lurking somewhere beyond the light of the fire the scorch teams used to burn a clear path, they were haunting. Almost grotesque. They cast hazy neon light that reflected off everyone’s gas masks and rendered faces expressionless.

They searched in short bouts. Kravitz and Davenport and Barry worked to triangulate and locate the Light during the day. At night they landed and sent out a search party—Magnus, accompanied by Kravitz or Barry, and the five person scorch team from Fungston.

Kravitz was exhausted, but it was a _good_ exhaustion. One that let him fall into a dreamless sleep for a few hours every morning, when the team returned from its search. Lethe pecked anxiously at him when he conjured her into existence, tugged on his clothes and hair to try and keep him in bed when he woke, but he was _doing_ something now—making progress.

The people of Fungston deserved to survive the Hunger. Merle had given them hope. Kravitz was going to do everything in his power to make sure they got to see that hope fulfilled.

They were on another expedition, searching in the eerie half-light of the forest, when one of the mushroom beings found them. It lurched out of the dark, soundless except for the impact of its heavy feet as it lunged at one of the scorch team members. A swipe of its arm sent the halfling man toppling back before he could raise the barrel of his flamethrower.

Kravitz was between them a split-second later, his fingers shifting into claws. He reached deep into the well of magic the Raven Queen offered him and flame-like shadows erupted around his body, wreathing him in darkness. The shadows reached out, grasping at the mushroom being in front of him as Kravitz bared teeth turned sharp with anger.

“Kravitz, you got any flame spells?” Magnus called, from the other end of their little party. “There’s more!”

There hadn’t _been_ trouble at night before—the mushrooms seemed to spend nights asleep, more or less. Maybe this was a good sign. Maybe it meant they were getting close to the Light, if the mushroom creatures were changing their behaviour.

Kravitz raised a hand and sent a blast of eldritch power at the being creeping up behind Magnus, knocking it back. “Not exactly,” he said. “You’ve got a flamethrower, Magnus! Make it work!”

Two mushrooms turned to three. It was hard to tell, in the thick of it, whether there were more waiting, watching the fight unfold. Kravitz fought tooth and nail against the one closest to him. He could feel the heat of flames behind him, directed at the other attackers. He wished he hadn’t turned down the offer of a flamethrower for himself.

Kravitz yanked a dagger from the inside of his jacket and buried it in the mushroom’s side. It’s spongy flesh cut easily, but the wound did nothing to slow the thing down. Not even when the shadows cradling Kravitz lashed out at the spot he’d hit, where there should have been bleeding, been _something_ to prove Kravitz had landed a blow.

Kravitz was going to learn a fucking fire spell when this was over. He was going to work on his evocation.

The mushroom slammed a heavy fist into Kravitz’s side and knocked the air from his lungs, sent him stumbling backwards into the stalk of one of the non-living mushrooms that made up the forest around them. His back hit it and a thick cloud of spores erupted around him, obscuring his vision. The mushroom was on him again, suddenly, and Kravitz lashed out, raking claws over its arm, trying to muster the concentration for another spell—for something quick and dirty that would get the thing _away_ long enough for him to catch his breath.

The next blow knocked the mask off Kravitz’s face.

He inhaled sharply, in shock, and felt the way the spores _burned_ all the way down. His lungs screamed in protest and he was choking—he was _drowning_ in it—as the spores clogged his airway and the poison took hold. A fist slammed into his stomach before he could squirm free.

Kravitz had time to summon Lethe with a mental command—to tell her to find the mask as fast as she could—and then the world went _dark_.

*

Kravitz opened his eyes on the deck of the Starblaster. He had one hand on the railing, one hand bunch in Barry’s sleeve. Barry’s hand was on his arm.

“Good to see you, bud,” Barry said, a crooked smile on his face. “Welcome back.”

Kravitz inhaled deeply, a reflex after choking to death on the spores, and let the breath out slow. “Did you find the Light?”

“We found it,” Barry promised. “They survived.”

“Good.” Kravitz relaxed his grip on Barry’s sleeve. “That’s good.”

He reached for his connection to the Raven Queen, a habit upon arriving in a new plane now. Lethe was never going to let him hear the end of calling for her _as_ he was dying rather than when the fight first started. He was going to have to feed her an entire roast before she relaxed about it. By the time she forgave him, she’d be spoiled rotten.

The Raven Queen’s presence filled his mind, first curious and then—angry. _Furious_. A goddess of wrath and vengeance and balance, incensed that some resurrected mortal who spat in the face of her laws would dare reach for her power—would presume to be entitled to it.

She snapped the connection between them like cutting a taut string and Kravitz staggered into Barry’s side with the recoil of it.

He was dead before anyone could ask what was wrong.

*

Kravitz died once more, immediately after the reset, before they figured out a plan to deal with it.

“Don’t reach for her,” Barry said, as soon as they reformed on the Starblaster deck at the beginning of their eleventh cycle. “Don’t ask for her power, Kravitz. Not yet.”

Kravitz didn’t let go of Barry or the railing this time, holding both to ground himself in place. “Fuck,” he said. “I hope you have an idea for how to fix this because I’m not going to be much use if I don’t have my magic.”

Barry’s lips twitched into a smile and he pried Kravitz’s hand off his robe, stepping back to let Magnus pull Kravitz into a hug. “We’ve been brainstorming,” Magnus said. “Merle thinks you should go to a temple.”

Kravitz let himself be hugged, patting Magnus’s arm awkwardly. “A temple?”

“Can’t hurt to try and talk it out _before_ you use her power,” Merle said, walking over to pat Kravitz on the hip. “Welcome back. Try not to spend the year dead again.”

“I can’t believe we’re tied,” Magnus said. “I’m not winning the death count anymore.”

“Dying is _not_ a competition,” Davenport said, from the helm of the ship. “We’re going to scout and see what this world is like. If there’s a temple, you go there. If not, try doing what the rest of us do with our gods—pray.”

“The Raven Queen is about balance.” Lucretia leaned against the railing behind Merle. “If you explain what we’re doing—if you tell her _why_ you’ve died—maybe she’ll be forgiving. There’s nothing natural or balanced about the Hunger. It consumes everything. That’s not her way.”

Kravitz’s last memory was of the rage the Raven Queen felt that he would defy her fundamental laws and still consider himself a suitable vessel for her powers. He doubted she’d forgive him that easily, but everyone looked _hopeful_ in a way he didn’t want to ruin. They didn’t have much cause for hope.

“Okay,” he said. “It can’t go any worse than my first two attempts to connect with her. Let’s find a temple.”

*

Kravitz tried not to take it as a sign that there was a temple for them to find. It wasn’t large or well kept, but it _existed_ , and the two orc women running it were instantly friendly when they saw the medallion Kravitz wore around his neck.

“There’s not many young folk interested in Our Lady,” Priestess Liba said, putting the kettle on. “Especially not young, _handsome_ folk. We’ve been looking for someone to take over the temple.”

“We’re not getting any younger,” Priestess Tam agreed. “One thing worshipping Our Lady teaches you—nobody lives forever.”

“All that lives must die,” said Liba. She looked at Merle and winked. “Passing through nature to eternity, as Pan would say.”

“I can’t stay long,” Kravitz said. “And I’m no cleric. I—”

“You sure?” Tam asked, peering at him. “You’ve got a connection to her. I can feel it.”

Kravitz paused. Even in their patron’s temples, warlocks weren’t always welcome. He’d met clerics who thought his way of going about things was cheating, even if the Raven Queen was the one to make him the offer in the first place. “I’m… sworn to her.”

“A warlock?” Liba exchanged a glance with Tam. “You must be a rare bird, for Our Lady to come to you.” Liba began measuring out scoops of tea into a pot. “Of course we’ll let you use the temple. Our Lady doesn’t offer herself lightly. If she put her trust in you, who are we to question it?”

“Would you all like cookies with your tea?” Tam asked, getting up to fetch a tin. “I made them myself. They’re chocolate.”

“I haven’t had home baking in _years_ ,” Magnus said, leaning forward eagerly. “I would _love_ a cookie, ma’am.”

*

Later, in the temple, Kravitz knelt on the stone floor and tried to calm his pounding heart. Kravitz loved his goddess. He had merged his soul with her power when he was sixteen. He loved her, and she had cared for him. This would be fine. He would come out the other side of this. And if he died, he’d just wake up again next cycle. He’d have another chance. There was no point in being nervous, but it was one thing to know that, logically, and another to internalize it.

He studied the ravens carved into the altar in front of him and focused on his breathing. He would explain the weight of their mission. He would let the Raven Queen know it wasn’t deliberate—this flaunting of her laws. He would prove himself to her and then he would go eat more of Priestess Tam’s cookies and have another cup of tea.

Kravitz bowed his head and took a deep breath. He opened the thread of connection that ran between his soul at the Raven Queen—slowly made himself visible to her.

“My Lady,” he whispered, soft voice echoing in the quiet dark of the temple’s inner chamber. “Please. Let me explain.”

Her presence filled the chamber in an instant—a creeping cold that made Kravitz shiver. Disapproval that settled heavy on his shoulders.

“I know I’ve broken your laws,” he said. “It wasn’t purposeful. The coming back. It’s—inevitable. Please. Let me show you.” Kravitz swallowed down his dread and opened his mind to the Raven Queen—showed her the worlds they’d moved through. Showed her his home and the animal world—let her see each version of her he’d encountered. He showed her his first death and his second and his third.

He held back Magnus’s and Barry’s deaths and nothing else—let his mind skim over those because what he didn’t show the Raven Queen couldn’t hurt them.

“I swore myself to you,” he said. “I swore to uphold the balance of life and death—to keep your tenants—and I meant it. But the Hunger is—it’s antithetical to everything you stand for. It’s monstrous. Demonic. It consumes entire planar systems. It will consume _everything_ if we don’t stop it and that’s against your tenants too. That’s _wrong_.”

He didn’t dare look at the Raven Queen, but he felt her gaze on him, sharp as a knife, as he bent his head further forward, eyes locked on the rough hewn stone beneath him. “I should be dead right now and it’s your right to demand that I—to tell me I have no call ignoring the deaths I’ve racked up, but… My Lady, _please_. I owe you a great debt and I swear to you I’ll pay it, but I need to fight the Hunger. I need to help find the Light of Creation so my friends and I can save this plane before we’re sent to the next.”

“Kravitz,” said the Raven Queen, her voice the whisper of wind through bare trees, barely there in the room, but echoing and terrible in his mind. “Over and over I have granted you my power. You have repaid my favour by breaking the most sacred of my laws. Not once, but three times now you have defied me.”

“I have no choice,” Kravitz said. “Every time I enter a new cycle, I—”

The Raven Queen was close to Kravitz suddenly. He felt her behind him, her body bent over his, her hands curled around his shoulders, touch so cold it burned. “I have passed judgement on you _twice_ and still you came here begging for my favour.”

“It is not my intention to defy your judgement,” Kravitz said. “If you wish for me to die—if you want me to start each cycle with a single breath and let my friends struggle against this darkness that devours worlds without me, then I will.” He curled his hands into fists and pressed the heels of his palms against the floor, let the pain ground him. Kravitz wanted to turn and look at the Raven Queen so he could plead his case. Every ounce of self-preservation in his body told him not to.

The Raven Queen was silent in response. Thoughtful.

“You owe me a debt,” she said. “But I see the truth of you. I see the measure of your soul now, as I saw it once before, when you first made this bargain.” Her claws scraped against his jaw, razor sharp and biting, leaving a hot trail of pain in their wake, even without breaking the skin. “I am patient. The benefit of immortality—a skill learned with time. And so I offer you another deal—a delay.”

Kravitz swallowed heavily. “A delay?”

The Raven Queen hummed, a sound more like crying than singing, the sensation of it creeping under his skin, reverberating through his rib cage. “You will have my favour once more. You will be part of me and I will mark your soul so your transition to your next reality is… smooth.” Her hand wrapped around Kravitz’s throat with a gentle, mocking care that made him shudder. “And when your task is complete, your life will be forfeit. Whatever goddess you encounter in that final world—they will have you for their judgement. Do we have a deal?”

Kravitz thought about refusing the offer. He thought about trying his luck again next cycle, with a new goddess, but if he refused he had no guarantee the Raven Queen wouldn’t plant some fundamental flaw inside him—wouldn’t do something to ensure he just kept dying, over and over, until death finally stuck.

At least this way, he’d be able to stop the apocalypse first.

Priestess Liba’s words were there in the back of his mind, waiting. “All that lives must die,” he said. “I understand the terms, My Lady.”

When Kravitz walked back into the parlour where the crew and priestesses were waiting, he had Lethe in his arms, tucked against his chest. He turned down the cookies Tam offered him, previous hunger gone, and let the rest of the crew enjoyed the visit.

The chill brought by the Raven Queen lingered in his bones for the rest of the cycle.

*

Kravitz kept the deal to himself. There was a price to pay for power, for not dying when the next cycle started. A price to reconnect with the Raven Queen again and again as they moved from plane to plane. Besides, the debt he owed, the cost that would come due, wasn’t a revelation. Everything ended—everything died.

He was lucky, in a way, to know when his time would come.

*

A world without death was a world with no need for the Raven Queen. The remnants of grand, technologically advanced civilizations scattered across the plane spoke to a history of vibrant cultures, but the only signs of life now were the things they left behind—the robots.

Seventeen years into their journey, Kravitz expected the strength of his connection to the Raven Queen to fluctuate cycle by cycle. It happened with Merle too, except _Merle’s_ magic was based in faith. He didn’t commune directly with Pan often. Kravitz, on the other hand, relied on a direct line to his goddess. He was tied to her, explicitly, and if she wasn’t _there,_ then there was nothing for him to draw magic from. No way to cast spells or summon Lethe to his side. It left an aching hollow in his chest—an empty space around his soul where she wasn’t.

The debt he owed was a distant certainty now. It had been six years and still there was no end in sight. More important was this—he was alone and he was useless.

Kravitz followed Barry around, watching him repair robots for three months because he wasn’t sure what else to do with himself. He wandered through the empty second tier of the crumbling city, picking through the rubble, and grew familiar with the eerie loneliness of a city whose people had vanished—of a world without death or life.

Davenport was the first one to call him on it.

“Barry’s waiting you out,” he said, cornering Kravitz in the ship’s kitchen one morning. None of them were cooks, but Magnus could do a solid eggs and bacon breakfast, if they had the supplies on hand. “But I’m your Captain, not your friend. I don’t have to be polite.”

Kravitz took a sip of his coffee and attempted a smile. “After seventeen years we’re not friends too?”

“You’re trying to change the subject, Kravitz.” Davenport climbed onto a stool, staring him down, and Kravitz realized that the kitchen and common area were suspiciously empty. Magnus should have already started breakfast. “We’re _going_ to talk about this.”

“Is this related to my work?” Kravitz asked, setting his mug down. “I’ve been—I don’t have any duties I’m capable of performing at the moment. It’s difficult to work as an arcanist when you have no access to magic.”

“Is that what this is about?” Davenport tilted his head as he looked Kravitz over. “You think you’re not pulling your weight this cycle?”

“I _know_ I’m not pulling my weight,” Kravitz said. “I’m useless right now. I’ve brought back scrap metal for Magnus to play with. That’s—”

Davenport raised a hand, cutting him off. “Your worth to this crew isn’t measured by your productivity,” he said. “Merle and Lucretia are recording robot stories. We know we won’t be able to find the Light. I don’t pretend to understand what you’re missing, but Kravitz—I chose my crew carefully. Please don’t doubt my ability to do my job. My crew is not expendable.”

Kravitz had seen Davenport stern and serious before, but it wasn’t usually directed at _him_. Magnus had the highest death count so far, because he made bad choices. Merle had occasionally made questionable decisions involving local flora. Lucretia and Barry both forgot to sleep and eat sometimes, when they got sucked into their work. Kravitz was—he had his flaws, certainly, but Lethe was usually around to prod him when he got caught up in something, and they hadn’t exactly been to a world where his weakness for games of chance could impede the mission.

It was the first time he’d been personally scolded and he got why it worked on everyone else now.

“I wasn’t—”

“Your application forms mentioned a history with music,” Davenport said. “Some bardic skills?”

“Years ago. I kept up the piano, but it’s been a long time since I tried the magic,” Kravitz said. “I didn’t _need_ it.”

“Now you do,” said Davenport. “We’re all learning to adapt, Kravitz. We’re broadening our skill sets. Barry’s a good example of that. We know you won’t always have your connection to the Raven Queen. And she’s been… fickle, historically. You’ve got a few months left to work on your music. Put them to good use. Understood?”

Kravitz didn’t exactly have access to a piano—to _any_ instrument—but with Davenport staring him down, daring him to disobey a direct order, he couldn’t protest either. “Yes sir,” he said. “Understood.”

“Good,” Davenport said. “Now go get Magnus and tell him he can come make breakfast.”

*

It took Kravitz three weeks of searching through the debris on the city’s second tier to find the keytar. It was in awful condition and unwieldy—completely impractical—but it had a keyboard like a piano and Kravitz’s option B was drilling holes into a piece of pipe and seeing if he could use it as a flute.

The keytar was better than that, even if it was powered by steam and attached to a large, boiler-like backpack. Even if Kravitz felt ridiculous putting the thing on so he could lug it back to the Starblaster.

Magnus started laughing as soon as he caught sight of Kravitz. “What _is_ that?” he asked, wheezing for air on top of the Starblaster, where he was trying to attach bits of salvaged robot tech to make—something. An arm? Honestly Kravitz wasn’t sure _what_ Magnus was doing, but the two of them were more or less in the same position on this world. Their usual roles were moot.

“Krav, seriously.” Magnus waved a hand at him. “ _What_?”

“I’m picking up music again,” Kravitz said. “Is Barry around?”

“That’s the dorkiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Magnus said. “Please put on a suit and give us a concert.”

“I’m going to go to the lab,” Kravitz said.

“Looking forward to hear you play!” Magnus called, as Kravitz walked into the ship.

Barry looked up from the robot arm he was working on repairing when Kravitz walked into the lab and a complicated series of emotions crossed his face—amusement, concern, confusion, then back to amusement.

“Krav,” he said. “What the hell is that?”

Kravitz sighed and set the keytar down, then let the pack slide off his shoulders. “It’s a keytar. Please tell me you can figure out a way to power this without steam. I need an instrument.”

“And this is… this is what you’re going for?”

“We’re on a robot world, Barry,” Kravitz said. “It’s this or trying to make a flute out of the plumbing and I’m a classically trained pianist.”

“I remember,” Barry said, getting up to take a look at the keytar and the massive engine that was supposed to power it. “I’m sure I can come up with something better than _steam_ to run your keyboard thing. Even the robots don’t run on steam anymore. Give me a week to figure out another power source and we’ll see what I can cook up.”

“What do they run on? Can you just use that?” Kravitz asked, watching Barry Mage Hand a screwdriver over so he could start taking the pack apart.

“Gonna be honest with you, bud—I have no idea. Magic?” Barry glanced up at Kravitz and shrugged. “That sounds like I’m blowing you off, but it’s the best I can do right now. Powerful magic that’s…” Barry hesitated, glancing up at Kravitz and then back down at the pack in front of him. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, do you _promise_ not to get mad?”

Kravitz frowned. “Mad about what?”

Barry took his glasses off so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. “We found out some stuff,” he said. “Some stuff we didn’t tell you. It was when you were doing your—you know, your walks. Pretty easy to just… not pass it on.” He put his glasses back on and adjusted them, looking up at Kravitz. “But I think I need your knowledge of necromancy here.”

Kravitz froze in place. “You—I’m sorry, did you just tell me you’ve been keeping a secret about _necromancy_ from me because you didn’t want me to get _mad_?”

Barry winced. “In my defense, I suggested bringing you in on this, but Lucretia thought—”

“So you’ve _all_ been keeping a secret from me?” Kravitz hadn’t processed _that_ part of this situation to begin with. This was—great. Lovely. Exactly the sort of teamwork he expected after nearly two decades living and working with the rest of the crew. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me.”

“The robots have souls,” Barry said. “They’re, uh, they’re the survivors of the plague that wiped out organic lifeforms on this world. Sort of. They put their souls into some kind of gems and…” Barry shrugged. “Technomancy. They kept themselves alive as robots. I don’t understand how it works, exactly, but… you know a lot about necromancy too.”

Kravitz took a seat on one of the stools by Barry’s workbench, reaching up to rub his temples. “So these people put themselves into some sort of—gem conduit to save themselves from a plague. Okay.” It wasn’t something he was _fine_ with, but also—Kravitz looked up at Barry, frowning. “What did you think I was going to do? _Kill_ them? I don’t even have magic right now.”

Barry had the good sense to look sheepish. “We weren’t sure and you’ve been… out of it this cycle, Krav. Lucretia suggested not putting any more pressure on you.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Merle said we were overthinking things.”

Storming out of the lab would be childish, but Kravitz spent a moment contemplating it anyway. Curiosity held him back. Curiosity, and the realization that _he_ was keeping a secret too. “Merle’s the only one of you with sense.”

“Sorry,” Barry said. “We goofed up. Look, Krav—now you know, do you want to take a look at my notes? There’s something they’re not telling us and, you know, we’re not finding the Light this cycle so…”

“So might as well figure out what kind of necromancy they’re using to keep themselves functional,” Kravitz said. He sighed and reached over, snagging Barry’s notebook from the other side of the bench. “Fine, I’ll take a look, but _you’re_ going to figure out how to get the keytar working without a steampack. I’ll look ridiculous enough without wearing it too.”

Barry looked down at the keytar again. “I’ll do my best.”

“You’ve been lying to me for months,” Kravitz said, without looking up from Barry’s notes. They were thorough—Barry’s notes always were—but there was definitely something missing. “You’ll make it work.”

He turned a page in the notebook, frowning. Being inhabited by souls helped power the robots, obviously. Life produced energy, but if there were _living souls_ here, then _why_ was there no death? The Raven Queen cared about souls, not organic bodies. Bodies were vessels and in that way they weren’t dissimilar to the robots. If anything, the move to preserve souls should have the Raven Queen’s attention focused on the robots. She should be here and angry, working on restoring a natural balance to the world.

“Where do they go?” Kravitz asked, once he finished reading through Barry’s notes.

Barry looked up from prying apart the keytar. “What do you mean?”

“The souls,” Kravitz said. “They’re not going to the astral plane. They’ve cut off the Raven Queen so thoroughly she no longer exists. So where are they? The robots don’t have strong memories of being alive for the plague. There must be… somewhere else. A place that holds them when their robot lives end. You _can_ destroy a soul, but it’s not easy, and I don’t think the robots would want to. Nothing about the work they’ve put into surviving tells me they’d do that.”

Barry stared at Kravitz for a long moment, then scrambled to his feet. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck, you’re right. That’s—yes. How are they doing this? Where are the souls going when they leave the robots?” Kravitz let Barry snatch the notebook back from him. “Why didn’t I _think_ of that?”

“Because you’re a necromancer,” Kravitz said, resting his elbows on the workbench and watching as Barry began scribbling out notes. “You think about death as an ending. You don’t think about cycles or balance.”

Barry glanced up from his work, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Okay, you got me there,” he said. “Next time I keep secrets from you, smack me.”

“Try not to let there _be_ a next time,” Kravitz said, pushing down the thought that he was being… ever so slightly hypocritical. “Tell me more about the conduits they keep their souls in.”

*

The crystal that held the souls of everyone the Beast of the Ring saved from the plague took up almost an entire wall of the underground chamber that held it. It shone bright in the dark room, blue and lit from within—beautiful. Powerful. So powerful it radiated staggeringly strong waves of magical energy. Kravitz could _just_ make out the shapes of souls inside it—obscured by the swirling magic infused in the crystal, but _there_ all the same.

Magic like this in the Hunger’s path with nothing standing in the Hunger’s way? That was bad. The Hunger grew stronger every time it fed. They _couldn’t_ let the Hunger have this.

The robot standing in front of the crystal squared her shoulders, ready for a fight. “I see you’ve found our secret,” she said. “We’ve discussed among ourselves what we’d do if this day ever came, though, to be honest, I doubted it ever would.” The robot looked them over, wary. Kravitz would be too, if five people turned up all of the sudden in a chamber this well-hidden—accessible only if you swam through the murky water that had flooded the lower tiers of the city. “What are you looking for?”

Magnus glanced over his shoulder at the rest of them, then at the robot. “We want to help.”

“I’m not sure exactly what that means,” the robot said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You want to give us some oil or something? I’ve got enough, thanks.”

Magnus shook his head. “There’s a force coming that’s going to destroy everything. And I don’t mean like the plague. I don’t mean like a monster, or… destroy where you just go back and find a new body. I mean _unmake_ everything. And it’s gonna be here in a couple days.”

“I’m not entirely sure why I should believe you,” she said. “But if what you say is true, is there anything we can even do to fight it off?”

“No,” said Kravitz. “At this point there isn’t much any of us can do to stop it.”

Davenport spoke up, behind the rest of them, his voice heavy and sad. “Guys, I’m so—I’m so sorry, but we can’t let this… technology get consumed by the Hunger. We can’t give the Hunger an army of robots and a way of transferring people into even more powerful bodies. We just… we can’t. We just can’t do it. We have to destroy this thing.”

Kravitz saw Magnus give the crystal a speculative look. It was—the thought of this _immense_ power falling into the hands of the Hunger was terrifying. Kravitz agreed. They couldn’t let it happen. But _destroying_ it—destroying all the souls it held?

Kravitz had broken the tenants of his goddess more than enough times already. He wouldn’t damn himself again. Besides that, it was _wrong_. It was so deeply, fundamentally wrong that he felt sick even considering it. He swore to protect the balance between life and death. The robots here—the _people_ —had set up their own version of the astral plane when they built this crystal to preserve souls and enable them to cycle from one body to the next.

The robot picked up a long piece of rebar from the ground, twirling it effortlessly and holding herself at the ready in front of the crystal. “Whatever you’re thinking, think again.”

“We’re sorry,” Davenport said. “We truly are, but there’s—sometimes circumstances force you to be pragmatic.”

Magnus stepped forward and Kravitz reached out, catching his arm. “Stop. This isn’t right.”

Magnus turned to look at him. “If we let the Hunger get stronger, doesn’t it make it harder to save the next world? I mean, we’re still figuring this out.”

“We’re not the ones who destroy worlds,” Kravitz said, frowning at him. “We’re not the ones who kill everything in our path. That’s the Hunger, remember?”

“If we don’t, we’re not protecting future,” Magnus protested, shaking his head. “I’m not saying it’s an _easy_ choice, Krav. I’m not saying I want to do it.”

“No, but you’re still _choosing_ to,” Kravitz said. “Do you have any idea what I’ve—” He stopped himself, biting back the words he really wanted to say. “The oath I swore to the Raven Queen is as much about respecting life as it is about respecting death. You’re asking me to throw away everything I believe in. Again. You’re asking me to _destroy_ their version of the astral plane.”

“If you can’t help, that’s fine,” Magnus said. “But it _has_ to be—”

“No, it _doesn’t_.” Kravitz tightened his grip on Magnus’s arm. “You’re better than this, Magnus.” He turned, looking at the rest of the crew. “We’re _all_ better than this and I don’t care how desperate we feel now—we can’t do this. I’m not going to let you become those people and I will _not_ be complicit in destroying an entire civilization. I’ve wracked up enough debt to my goddess without adding _this_ to the list of my sins.”

“How’s your goddess going to feel about letting the Hunger get stronger?” Magnus asked. “We _can’t_ let that happen. We’re barely keeping ahead of things as it is.”

Kravitz scowled at Magnus. “I think I’ve asked her for more than enough leeway as it is.”

“Isn’t this necromancy, Kravitz?” Lucretia asked, voice soft. “I don’t like it either, but that’s what this is, isn’t it?”

Lucretia wasn’t wrong. This was all based on necromancy, but Kravitz had spent the last seventeen years learning that life and death weren’t black and white—that there were several shade of grey in rules he’d once thought absolute.

Kravitz shook his head. “This is a people that created their own astral plane, that made sure life could continue when someone tried to wipe it out completely. This is a circle of going and coming back that sounds like balance to me. This is what I’m sworn to protect and I _will_.” He shifted so he was standing between his crew and the robot, staring them down.

“I have a suggestion,” Merle said, after a moment of ringing silence in response to Kravitz’s declaration. “Why don’t we leave it up to them?” He looked at the robot. “We can’t do anything to help you. Can’t do a damn thing. We… maybe you got another week, and then you’re gonna be gone, okay? You’re already disembodied spirits, but they’re gonna take your energy. They’re gonna take your spirits and do horrible, horrible things with ‘em. Is that why you want to hang around? To help evil and help other people get destroyed? Is that why you wanted to hang out in this crystal?”

The robot was still in a ready stance in front of the crystal, watching them closely. “We’ve been through… a lot, here,” she said. “This force that you’re describing, it sounds pretty tough, but I feel like we’ve been through worse and I haven’t met a force yet that can make me go against my will. So if the other option is the absolute destruction of myself and my people... I refuse destruction and I refuse to be consumed.”

Kravitz glanced back to smile at her, then turned back to the rest of the crew. “So we don’t let the crystal be consumed or destroyed,” he said. “Captain, Lucretia, can either of you make the crystal smaller? If it were smaller—”

Lucretia’s eyebrows rose. “We could take it with us,” she said. “We could make it portable.”

“Exactly,” said Kravitz. “I don’t—maybe if I had my real magic or more time, but with the bardic stuff I’ve been practicing? There isn’t much I can do. Besides, it’d be hard to get the keytar down here through the water.”

“Transmutation isn’t my speciality, but I can handle it,” Davenport said, after a moment of consideration.

Kravitz stepped towards the robot. “Would that be acceptable?” he asked. “I promise you, if you and your people let us do this, I will do everything in my power to watch over your souls. We can’t promise— _I_ can’t promise—to restore you to the way you are now, to bodies like you have now, but as long as it’s within my power do so, I won’t allow any harm to come to the crystal.”

The robot watched him, silent, and then lowered the rebar in her hands. “I can’t make this decision unilaterally. We’ll need to reach a consensus. How long do we have to decide?”

“We’re working on a tight deadline,” Davenport said, face grim when Kravitz turned to look at him. “Twelve hours is the best we can do.”

“We’ll let you know,” the robot said. “Someone will come find you.” She looked them over critically, the rebar still in her hand. “You’ll excuse me if I wait for you to leave before I ask what everyone wants to do.”

When they resurfaced, the world was quiet—the robots still and dark without souls to inhabit them. Barry looked unsettled. “What the hell happened?” he asked, when they found him, sitting in a square surrounded by empty robot bodies. “What did you do?”

Kravitz shook his head as he pulled his dreads back, out of his face, and tied them up on top of his head. He felt exhausted, heavy. “Things got dark,” he said. “I think we solved it. You _really_ need to learn how to swim.”

*

The same robot from before, the guard who watched over the crystal, came to Kravitz that night.

“Some of us will stay,” she said. “Some of us will go.” Her eyes lingered on the keytar strapped to Kravitz’s back. “Where did you find that?”

“The second tier of the city,” Kravitz said. “Is it—do you want it back?”

“No. You can keep it. I like you.” The robot offered Kravitz a hand. Her grip was cool and firm when he shook it. “My name is Troth,” she said. “Many of my friends, my neighbours… they’re going to stay behind. I cannot leave them unprotected. So I’m trusting you with the rest of them. If you can, give them new forms, but if you can’t...”

Troth tilted her head as she looked down at Kravitz. “I was raised in a monastery. You talked about your goddess and I recognize faith and conviction in others. I don’t trust easy, but I’m trusting you with this, Kravitz. Take care of my people and keep their souls safe. Where they are now, they’re comfortable. They’re looked after. They understand they may not emerge from the crystal again and they accept that. Look after their souls. Keep the promise you made me.”

Troth still hadn’t let go of Kravitz’s hand. He did his best not to look uncomfortable under the weight of her scrutiny and what she was asking of him. “I will,” he promised. “And I’ll tell Davenport we have your permission to shrink the crystal.” He hesitated. “We… We’re not bad people. We’ve just been through a lot.”

“Yes,” she said, humour infusing her robotic voice. “We have also been through a lot.” She paused, then let go of his hand and pat Kravitz’s arm a little too hard, although he got the impression it was more a matter of Troth not remembering how to interact with humans than any malice. “When I left the monastery there was something I had to learn—don’t lose sight of the small things because the big picture overwhelms you. Remember who you are and how you came to be that. Remember your calling.”

The big picture was saving the multiverse. The big picture was something Kravitz tried not to think about because if he did, he might lose his mind.

And his calling, for better or worse, was hard to forget.

“I won’t,” he said. “Good luck.”

*

Kravitz tucked the shrunken crystal safely away in the Starblaster before the Hunger descended. He stayed with it in the lab until the reset pulled him back on deck.

He wasn’t proud of lying to everyone about the deal he made with the Raven Queen and he wasn’t proud of the crew, willing to destroy an entire world before the Hunger could, but this—this was a victory. This was a small success he could hold on to. A reminder of who he was and what he swore to do.

The Hunger wanted to destroy the worlds they came to. It was up to them to say no, to refuse the temptation to scorch the earth behind them and leave nothing for the Hunger to take.

They weren’t always going to be able to do the right thing. They’d fuck up. They’re _already_ fucked up. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t— _shouldn’t_ —try to be better.

It was going to be a long, hard fight, but it was one they were going to _win_.

*

The year on the beach was a blessing. A break. Hot and sunny—the sound of the ocean a comforting rhythm to fall asleep to sleep every night. Kravitz basked in the way the heat sunk into his bones and swam when it got to be too much. They had the Light and ample seafood. His magic wasn’t _strong_ , but he’d been practicing with the keytar. Between what the Raven Queen granted him and the bardic skills he was relearning, he had more than enough magic to enjoy himself.

“It’s like being on vacation from the apocalypse,” he said, flopping down next to Barry in the sand, still wet from the ocean. Lethe landed next to him and gave his damp skin a disapproving look, settling down in the sand closer to Barry. “What happened to your glasses?”

Barry gave the broken frames in his hand a look of despair. “Magnus,” he said. “Can we get him into sand castles or something? Something that’s _not_ scaring us?”

Kravitz plucked the glasses out of Barry’s hand and whistled a short tune, watching as they mended themselves, then handed them back. “I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”

Barry slid the glasses back onto his face. “Tell me,” he said. “It can’t be any worse than putting up with jump scares for the next ten months.”

“You need to learn to swim,” Kravitz said. “We can make you earplugs. I’m sure you’ll pick it up fast. It’s easy.”

“You can grow _gills_ , bud,” Barry said, giving him an accusatory look. “Of course _you_ think it’s easy.”

Kravitz rolled his eyes. “You’re a grown man, Barry. We’ve got a _year_ here. You’re smart. You can learn.”

Barry hesitated. “Are you just going to throw me at Magnus for this?” he asked. “I mean, maybe it’ll be a good distraction for him, but—”

“Did you say something?” Magnus called, from the other end of the beach. “I heard my name!”

Kravitz gestured for Magnus to join them. “I’ll help, don’t worry,” he told Barry. “You’re going to be fine. We’ll get you seaworthy by the end of this.”

Barry gave the ocean a skeptical look, then ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he said. “Yeah, okay. It does look nice, you know? A good way to cool down.”

Magnus dropped into the sand next to Kravitz. “Magnus!”

Lethe flapped her wings in protest, hopping over to Magnus so she could peck his knee in disapproval. Magnus rubbed the underside of her beak, grinning down at her. “Sorry, Lethe. Wasn’t trying to upset you. I’m training your boy up.”

“It doesn’t work when we call you over,” Kravitz said, watching Lethe lean into the chin rub. Magnus had a way with animals that meant he could get away with just about anything around her. “I’ve got a better idea for training us. Barry wants to learn how to swim. You wanna help?”

“Really?” Magnus asked, looking at Barry. He smiled, wide and easy, and Barry only looked a little nauseated in return. “I’d love to. I’m a _great_ swimmer.”

“Perfect,” Kravitz said. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

*

Barry was maybe a _bit_ waterlogged by the end of the first lesson, but Kravitz, exhausted and covered in sand and salt, was pleased with his progress. Magnus looked even happier as they joined the rest of the crew for dinner.

Barry groaned as he sat next to Kravitz on one of the logs they’d pulled around their small fire. It would get bigger as the night progressed, a comforting blaze to keep them warm, but for now it was subdued and cheerful. “I’m going to drown before you’re done with me.”

“Stop trying to inhale underwater,” Kravitz said. “I’d give you gills too if I could.”

“Cheater,” Barry said, sliding off the log to the sand, so he could lean his back against the wood. “You sure you can’t figure it out?”

“Do you really want me to _try_?” Kravitz raised his arm in the air for Lethe to land on, then transferred her to his shoulder. It was easy enough to make the skin under her taloned feet a little thicker. “You want me to transmute the part of your body you use to breathe?”

“Okay, maybe not _now_ ,” Barry agreed, after a moment. “We’ll save it for the end of the cycle.”

Merle joined them, carrying a pile of driftwood, and took a seat next to Barry as he pulled out a knife. Kravitz had no idea what Merle was making the wood into, but he wasn’t going to ask either. If he did, he’d end up the recipient of the _gift_ and he’d already had to misplace the seaweed tie Merle made him. A seaweed tie to go with the suits he wasn’t wearing this cycle because they were on a _beach_. Kravitz liked being fashionable, but he also liked swimming and suits weren’t practical for sandy beaches.

“You gonna give us something to dance to tonight, kid?” Merle asked, chipping away at the wood. “Good night for it.”

“Is that a hint?” Kravitz asked, amused.

Barry groaned. “We need to get you a new instrument,” he said. “Something that _isn’t_ a keytar. I’m so tired of listening to it.”

“The next time we land in a world with something I can play or something I can learn, sure,” Kravitz said, casting Mage Hand to retrieve the keytar from its place of relative safety on the deck of the Starblaster. “I’ll take literally anything else you can think of. This is terrible.”

“Works though,” Barry said, after a moment, pride creeping into his voice. “No steam pack required.”

“Oh _no_ ,” said Lucretia, takingas a seat across from Merle. “Are we being serenaded again?”

“Don’t listen to them, Krav.” Magnus handed first Barry, then Kravitz a plate of food—seaweed, slightly charred fish, and rice from their stores. “I like your music.”

“It’s not about the music,” Davenport said, levitating the rest of the plates behind him as he joined his crew. “It’s about the instrument.”

“If Merle can carve me something out of driftwood and coral, I’ll _gladly_ play that instead.” Kravitz settled the keytar in his lap. “Until then, this is what you get.”

He played a quick scale to warm up and Lethe nipped at his ear. Kravitz laughed and let her fly across the fire to Lucretia’s side instead, her feathers ruffled with displeasure. “Everyone’s a critic.”

“The first plane we find with decent music, we go shopping,” Davenport said, with feeling. “Consider it a new mission objective—acquire literally any other instrument for our warlock-bard to play.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and leave a kudos if you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Kravitz, "the sworn", being an undercover warlock for the Raven Queen is more or less why I sat down and started writing this fic and I have been _dying_ to share it with all y'all. The second part of Stolen Century is coming at you soon! 
> 
> I'm always happy to talk over on tumblr, where I'm [marywhal](http://marywhal.tumblr.com).

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr: [@marywhal](http://marywhal.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, please leave a comment and kudos! ❤


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